


Ultores Coeunt [Avengers Assemble]

by auchterlonie



Series: Ultores Coeunt [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers AU - roman empire, Avengers Assemble - Freeform, Champions, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Gen, Gods, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Love, M/M, PTSD, Redemption, Roman Britain, Souls, Thrall - Freeform, deals with the gods, threatened villagers, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 58,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auchterlonie/pseuds/auchterlonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giants are usually only the heralds of disasters to come...</p><p>With Senator Fury's warning still fresh in his ears, Phil Coulson, agent of the Order of the Imperial Shield, takes his team on a journey to Britain - the end of the world - to investigate sightings of giants. It is a terrifying notion, as Phil still carries the heavy wounds from his last encounter with the creatures, but the plan is simple enough: take Nat and Clint, let Stark arm them, and then settle the giant problem. Nothing they haven't done a thousand times before.<br/>But of course, nothing is ever that simple. Stark has plans of his own -as do the gods - and this will be like nothing the team has ever faced before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ultores Coeunt [Avengers Assemble]

**Author's Note:**

> I rated this Teen for violence. 
> 
> I need to thank two people in particular - my beta, Lapillus, who provided the most incredibly insightful comments. They really helped me shape and strengthen this story for the better and I cannot thank Lapillus enough for that. Any errors or problems that remain are strictly on me, of course.  
> Secondly, I need to thank epeeblade for pushing and encouraging me to finish this. I am, as always, in debt to you for a bazillion things but in particular, for starting me down this crazy road.

>>>

Phil Coulson sat patiently in the atrium and wondered where he was being sent. That he was being sent _somewhere_ was a given - it was Spring and the border wars always started after the first planting - but hopefully, it would be somewhere new and exciting. As much as Phil loved Rome, he loved getting away from it even more. Mediterranean affairs tended to be too political, too human. The frontier, on the other hand, promised adventure.

"Walk with me," Senator Fury said as he stepped out of his meeting. Phil obeyed and fell in step, only casting a brief glance back into the room and the overly important men in there.

"You're going to Britain," Fury confirmed once they were out of ear shot and Phil instantly regretted his earlier wish; adventure was one thing, but the End of the World was something else entirely. The gods still tended to play games out there...

"Britain? What did I do to piss you off?"

Fury eyed him with his good eye, more in acknowledgment than anything else. He handed Phil a note written on a thin sheet of wood which Phil recognized as the common style of the frontier. He opened it carefully. Thick blood stains obscured most of the message, but the point was clear.

"Giants?"

"Agent Vitellius sent that to me and I've heard nothing since. I want you to take your team and find out what's going on in the far North. I don't think I need to explain how concerning giants can be."

"Of course not, sir." They'd faced giants together in the Germanian frontier and Phil still carried the heavy scars.

"Which is why you should take more men than just your two," Fury continued.

"You know my team's record, sir. We're good at what we do."

"I know you are or I wouldn't have called, but I wish you'd take some more precautions anyway. Maybe some of the Guardsmen."

"I don't trust the Guard, sir."

" _We_ were Guard, Coulson."

"Which is why I know better than to trust them."

Fury eyed him once again, but didn't make it an order. His wry smile instead told Phil this was his way of showing concern, nothing more.

"Fine," Fury said. "But don't say I didn't warn you. Get to Stark and let him arm you before you head further North, though."

"Is that really necessary, sir? Stark is..."

"A Bacchian level pain in the ass, I know, but like you, he's good at what he does," Fury answered firmly enough to tell Phil this part of the mission was non-negotiable. "Besides, you'll need more than barbarian weapons to fight giants, Coulson. I know you love your team, but don't pretend otherwise."

As touching and sensible as Fury's concern was, though, Phil couldn't help but bristle at the word 'barbarian.' He was not naive; he knew how other agents of Shield viewed him and his team. They were as unorthodox as they came and that always put them on the razor's edge of Imperial tolerance. The Empire only embraced nonconformity as far as it suited Imperial business. As long as the team got results, they would have Fury's protection, but Phil was keenly aware that the prevailing opinion among other agents was that the Order of the Imperial Shield was a place for landed, military men whose loyalty could be measured through lineage, not the barbarian and slave girl who made up his team - no matter how skilled they were.

As far as Phil was concerned, though, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov were far more deserving of respect than fully half the other Shield agents. Their work and sacrifices spoke for themselves. Phil just wished Fury would someday see it that way, too.

"We'll find out what's going on and settle it, sir," Phil answered, pocketing the note.

"I know you will, Coulson, but be careful all the same. Giants are usually only the heralds of disasters to come."

Phil reached out to shake his hand in the proscribed fashion. "I will, sir. Thanks for the pep talk."

***

Phil made his way through the winding streets of Rome and to the enormous villa on the city's outskirts that served as Shield's main dormitory and training ground. It was a gorgeous day and Phil knew Barton would be in the fields with his Scythian bow - as far from the other agents as he could possibly get.

Only those who'd actually served in foreign wars understood Barton's skill. An orphaned peasant, Clint had been raised in a provincial circus, of all places, and had been taught to shoot by the old Scythian slaves there - veterans of fierce wars, all. That Clint could best each of them while still a teenager had convinced Phil that he would grow to be the deadliest marksman on Earth. All these years and battles later, Phil was still thankful to the gods he'd found him and brought him to Shield. Phil owed him his life several times over.

So did the Emperor, for that matter.

Phil could only guess where Natasha was and knew there was no point in searching for her. Like Clint, she had likely already spotted his approach and was deciding when and how she would hear his news. That Phil owned her was a mere technicality.

A legendary assassin from the East, Phil and Clint had found her being paraded through the Forum towards execution after a particularly brutal capture. Even if Clint hadn't known and vouched for her, Phil still would have bought her freedom; there had been something in the way she'd stared at him. Despite having been stripped naked and beaten so badly that the blood still poured down her back and legs, Nat had met Phil's eyes with a look so fierce, it left him certain she was no man's prey or victim. Phil had known right then she belonged with him and Clint.

When he’d woken that night to find her straddling him in his bed and holding a knife to his throat, he’d understood that him keeping his life would be the only thanks he’d ever get. No one owned or controlled Natasha and she owed Phil no favors, but she'd been as loyal as family ever since.

“Nat?” Phil called out as he moved towards his office. “You’re going to need to pack for cold weather.”

“Where are we going?” she asked quietly from so closely behind that he would have jumped if she hadn’t given him so much practice.

“Britain, north of the border.”

She eyed him carefully, clearly unsure how to react. "People don't tend to come back from there. Are you sure you want to go?"

“No, but we’re going anyway. Something about giants, so pack accordingly. Bring everything.”

“I only need my knives.”

“We might not be back for a while, so bring everything. You too, Clint.”

“I suppose stamping my feet and saying ‘I don’t wanna’ won’t matter in this case?" Clint asked from where he was listening outside and just below the window’s ledge.

“No and get out of the dirt. You’re crushing my flowers.”

Clint snorted a laugh but stood up and leaned into the room. He handed Phil several of the slightly crushed stems. “Don’t worry, I picked them first.”

Phil took them grudgingly. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Clint answered, smiling broadly until Phil’s sour look changed to match.

“No, I don’t.”

Nat rolled her eyes at the pair. "What's the play? Who are we travelling as?"

"Standard personas for the road; body guard and slave until we reach Stark's," Phil answered, nodding to Clint and Nat respectively.

"Can't I be someone a little more interesting this time," Nat pressed. "Maybe your concubine or daughter?"

"First of all, I'm not old enough to be your father..."

"Yes, you are," Nat and Clint both answered.

Phil eyed them for a beat. They'd been having fun calling him 'senex' ever since that young priestess tried to help him up the temple steps. "And secondly," Phil continued, ignoring them. "I'm more than a little disturbed you linked 'concubine' and 'daughter' in the same thought... but, slave for the road, alright? Pepper will probably throw a feast once we get to Stark's anyway, so save the good clothes until then."

"Fine," Nat answered. "But I get to keep the money if you sell me again."

"We'll see. 'Old man' that I am, I might forget where I put it..." Phil deadpanned. He watched her until her shoulders relaxed and she smiled politely at him.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" Nat asked with the perfected faux-innocence of her slave girl persona.

"Go and pack, Natasha," Phil answered with all the kindness he could muster. She was damn good at creating alternate personas, but Phil knew how much she hated doing so. It made him appreciate all the more that she trusted him enough to follow his lead and play these little games.

Phil watched her leave before turning back to Clint. “Go get ready. It’s going to be a long trip and we need to get moving.”

“Yeah, sounds like fun,” Clint answered as he slung a muddy boot over the ledge and stepped into the room. “Giants, huh? Never killed a giant before.”

“And hopefully we won’t have to. There are only a few left in the world.”

“A few… who crush and eat people, though, right?”

“Only when they get scared.”

Clint raised an eyebrow and smiled. “So that’s why they nearly ripped your arm off? Because you scared them?”

Phil smiled back even as he felt a twinge run down his weak arm. Clint knew Phil still had nightmares of that fateful battle and the men he’d lost. Giants were nothing short of terrifying to him and Clint was already trying to ease his anxiety.

“Well, I was pretty frightening in my youth,” Phil bantered lightly, acknowledging the attempt.

“You know I'm just kidding about the 'old man' stuff, right?" Clint asked quietly as he leaned in close to Phil.

"I know," Phil answered just as quietly, as if it was their secret. His tone made Clint smile before he reached to steal a kiss.

“Go and pack,” Phil said when he finally pulled back. “Make sure you bring all of your armor.”

"I love you, too, Phil.”

After watching him go, Phil took a deep breath to focus himself and then moved to the corner alter where he laid out his sacrifice to Carter, the household goddess. He worked quietly through the ritual, asking for strength, guidance and a successful mission, as he always did, but when his arm twinged again he found himself deviating from the norm. He just didn't have a good feeling about this one.

“Please watch over them,” he whispered quietly while pouring wine from his private reserve and laying Clint’s flowers at the effigy’s feet. “If my life has meant anything to you, keep them safe.”

***

They made excellent time on the road, but it was still twenty days before they reached Durocortorum in northern Gaul.

Nat could maintain a persona almost indefinitely, but Clint always struggled with his. He was the worst liar Phil knew and had almost blown their cover on three separate occasions as they moved up the Rhone. The road was just too quiet and with no threats to keep him occupied, Clint kept slipping back to his more jovial self and drawing far too much attention from the locals. Phil needed to find him something to do and quickly.

It was therefore with relief that Phil spotted the new fortifications being built at the city’s edge. Something was going on; maybe something with which they could help, something at which Clint could shoot.

Phil approached the guard at the watchtower. "Hail Caesar."

"Hail Caesar. What business do you have, strangers?"

"Just passing through, but with all this building going on, is there something we should be wary of?"

The guard eyed him more closely and placed a hand on his sword. "You're from Rome?"

"I am."

"I could tell by the accent," he guard said, nodding. "You're going to need to speak to the commander."

"Why?" Phil asked him. "We're just passing through; I can't imagine we're worth your commander's time."

"Anyone from Rome comes through; they're to see the commander. Orders," the guard answered. A couple of menacing guards began making their way towards them from down the trench line and Phil smiled at them.

"Well, when you put it that way, how can we pass up the opportunity?"

They were escorted towards the fortress gates and Phil took in all the activity of the grounds. Cohorts of soldiers patrolled the walls while civilians built new ramparts and dug the deep trenches to parallel them. Their work was clearly not voluntary and a few nervous and very hungry looking civilians managed to make eye contact as Phil passed. He couldn't shake the feeling they were expecting something from him; hope, maybe.

Phil had heard of nothing alarming enough coming out of the region to warrant this kind of building and he flicked his eyes to Nat in just the right way to tell her as much. Whatever was going on here, Rome knew nothing about it.

They were met by an aide and grilled on their business. Phil played the role of an upstanding Roman patrician, but that surprisingly seemed to make the aide more hostile rather than less so.

"Your man can wait with the animals and your girl can wait with me," the aide informed him matter-of-factly.

"I don't think that's a good idea,” Phil responded.

"And I don't much care _what_ you think," the aide answered. "Guard, take him to the commander."

"Sir, please..." Nat begged Phil with a heart-breaking, pleading tone that made the aide sneer with menacing pleasure.

Phil looked to Nat and, getting the slightest of nods from her, decided to go with her performance. "She’s worth good money to me,” Phil told the aide, as if ready to haggle a price for her ‘company.’

“Don’t try that with me, mentior. Scarred up the way she is, she’s not worth much of anything.”

“She has a unique skill set I find quite valuable,” Phil added tantalizingly.

The aide considered her appraisingly for a moment before lightly jingling the money bag at his belt. “Alright. If she proves worth something, you’ll be compensated.”

 

"Sir, please..." Nat begged through false tears as she was roughly hauled away. "Please, don't leave me with him..."

“Show him what you can do, girl, and be quick about it; I don’t want to be here all day.”

Phil then nodded to Clint, who was struggling to suppress a smirk as he no doubt considered what Nat’s ‘company’ was going to be like for the aide. Phil kept his steady eyes on him until he pulled it together and walked away towards the stables, taking the long route past the barracks and armory. Between Clint's observations and the interrogation Nat was about to perform, they'd likely learn all Phil needed to know about what was going on. He walked the rest of the way to the principia curious about what the commander would offer him.

Phil was escorted to the back office where a wiry man of nervous disposition in chest armor two sizes too big was waiting for him. If the commander had been going for an imposing look he'd failed miserably, but Phil was content to let him have his illusion.

"Hail Caesar, sir," Phil greeted him with all the respect he could fake. "I'm sorry if we've caused you any inconvenience, we were just passing through. We didn't mean to take up your time, but your men insisted we at least pay tribute."

"Mmm..." the commander answered skeptically. "Your name?"

"Coulson, sir."

"Coulson? That's a Roman name?"

"It is, sir."

"Doesn't sound Roman. Where are you from?"

"From Rome, sir. Born and raised."

"Mmm..." the commander answered again, coming around the desk. Phil's non-threatening act was clearly making the commander feel more comfortable and not see him as the potential threat he was.

"We couldn't help but notice all the construction," Phil pressed. "Since we're passing through the area and it's just the three of us without any protection on the road, I'd asked your man if there was any trouble we should be wary of."

"No, no trouble," the commander answered quickly. "There's nothing here anyone needs to worry about."

"But with the new fortifications..."

"They're no concern of yours," the commander answered, advancing into Phil's face to seem as intimidating as possible. Phil took a step back, looking for all the world like a man afraid of confrontation and making the commander smile broadly in return. He was clearly a man who liked to intimidate and Phil found himself thinking about the civilian laborers he'd just seen.

"Of course not, sir. I meant no disrespect," Phil stammered out. "I'd just be afraid to get back out onto the road if there were bandits or the like. Trouble with the villagers maybe? I can't afford to be robbed. I have to get to Britain and make some purchases for my employer."

It was like baiting a hook, to Phil. If the commander was an honest man and the trouble was in the villages, he'd be obliged to pass Phil a warning. But if he was himself the source of local trouble, well, then, the nervous, wealthy, ill-defended city dweller Phil had just presented himself as was the perfect patsy to bring that trouble out.

Phil got his answer when the commander smiled and relaxed.

He was roughly escorted from the building - minus his money bag - and met a similarly robbed Clint outside the front gate.

"So? What did you learn?" Phil asked Clint after putting up the requisite show of indignation to the guards and moving a ways down the road.

"Well, something has them good and spooked. I made my way around and saw them setting up traps all over the place. Stations to pour pitch down the walls, buried spears in the ditches... the engineers are building slings and trebuchets. It's like they're preparing for a full scale invasion and yet none of the village guys I met seemed worried about anything but the guards."

"And I think I know why," Nat whispered from so closely behind that Phil did jump this time.

"Sweet Mithras, Nat! You're going to give me a heart attack one of these times." She shrugged by way of an apology and Phil noted the aide’s money bag tied to her belt. He nodded towards it. "He liked your skill set, I see.”

"He liked that I let him keep his balls."

Phil nodded his approval; he'd expected nothing less. "What did you learn?"

"My new friend was very helpful. Turns out Mr. Big Shot in there thinks he's the Emperor himself and can set the terms for all local business. He's been helping himself to whatever he wants all winter."

"That makes sense," Phil added, nodding. "I saw the treasury when I let him take my money. There were more than just taxes in there and there is no reason for a local commander to have that much gold on hand. He must be bleeding the locals dry."

"So… what? He's worried about an uprising?" Clint asked.

"Of sorts," Nat answered. "There are rumors of a good-hearted bandit who roams the province righting wrongs and protecting the weak. A couple of watchtowers were burned to the ground recently, so the commander is getting nervous he'll make an appearance sooner or later."

"This seems like a lot of precaution for a rumor," Phil said.

"Well you know how paranoid politicians get in the provinces. Maybe he's losing it," Nat answered. "But the bandit is supposed to be an old Legionary, so they've been pulling in anyone from Rome who happens to pass by, just in case, and more than one traveler has been killed preemptively."

"Still," Clint pressed. "If he's only worried about one man, why all the building? What's the big deal?"

"Because apparently this man has the strength of ten men..." Nat answered.

Clint smirked at her. "Definitely losing it."

"Or this bandit's a god," Phil sighed.

"A god who _helps_ people, Phil?" Nat pressed. "That seems unlikely."

"I know, I know," Phil answered as he turned to cast a tactical eye across the fields between the fortress and the local village. If the gods were in play here, then he couldn't just move on; the giants would have to wait a bit longer. "Alright, we can use a break from the road anyway. Let's head to the village, play up our story, and see if this bandit shows."

"And if he _is_ a god?" Nat asked cautiously.

"Then we ask him to help us, as well."

***

Two days later, they had made sure everyone in the village had heard their tale of woe and about the conditions they'd observed inside the fort. They'd been particularly careful to tell those who would be traveling to other villages or working along the roads, hoping that would give the gossip the best chance of reaching a wandering bandit.

Phil had passed most of the time listening to the villagers' own horrible stories and wishing Shield would station more agents in the provinces. It was Shield's mandate to protect people, whether they were Citizens or not. Usually, that meant protecting them from gods or mischievous spirits, but seeing these people solidified for Phil how that role needed to change - human greed could be just as devastating as a god's curse and far more common. If Phil had a say, Shield's role would expand as the Empire did.

"I know that look, Phil," Nat said as she sat to join him by the camp fire he'd built.

"What look?"

"The look that says you're ready to take on anyone and anything."

"Is that a problem?" he asked.

"No. It's my favorite look, actually," Nat answered with a wry smile. "But do you really think this bandit's a god?"

"It's worth investigating. Chasing rumors of Eros was how I found Clint."

“Despite your worrying, you love this part, don’t you?”

“Which part?”

“The adventure - chasing the unknown,” Nat answered.

“Of course," Phil admitted with a smile. "It’s why I became a Shield agent. Don’t you love it?”

“I suppose…” Nat continued. “But it's certainly not why I became an agent.”

“Then why did you?” Phil pressed. She'd never actually admitted to him why she continued to endure what she did for an organization that would never truly trust or support her.

Nat looked at him with a curious expression, seemingly judging if his question was serious or not. “You know the things I’ve done, the debts I’ve collected.”

“I do, but this isn’t penance, Natasha. You don’t have to keep fighting if you don’t want to.” Phil watched her eyes for a moment before leaning a little closer. “You and I both know you can leave any time you want – with my blessing. You are free to choose your own life. You’ve earned that right.”

“Have I?”

“Yes,” Phil answered simply.

Nat leaned back and considered him. "I think that's what I love most about you, Phil. You still believe in heroes, so much so, you try to make them yourself.”

Phil felt a smile of near-fatherly pride poke at the corner of his mouth. "Are you finally starting to see yourself as a hero, Natasha?”

"Of course not. I have far too much blood on my hands for that," Nat answered with a dismissive wave and a smile few would recognize as sad. “Besides, you heard the man; ‘I’m not worth much of anything,’ remember?”

“You’re worth something to me, Natasha.”

“You don’t count; you bought me.” She looked away and started fingering her necklace absentmindedly. Phil knew it had belonged to her mother, but he'd never pressed to ask about it. He just knew it was something deeply personal and comforting and that Nat only touched it in those rare moments when she was actually honest with him. “The only thing I am is a slave with a debt to clear,” Nat said quietly but firmly. “So I will be whoever you need me to be and I will protect whomever I can. Hopefully, someday… that will be enough.”

“How will you know when it’s enough?”

Nat shrugged at his simple question. “When I no longer need to be someone else to be worth something.”

“Nat…” Phil started, but when she dropped her hands from the necklace, Phil knew the reflective moment was gone. She smiled politely at him and Phil recognized ‘the slave girl’ looking back at him.

As much as he believed in her and as fiercely as he had defended her against all accusers, Phil knew he would never be able to fight the accusing voice in Nat’s own mind. No enemy she faced could be a greater foe, but that she continued to try and do good in the world despite it, made her a hero in his eyes.

"Think our guy just showed up," Clint shouted to them from his watch post up the road. "You got to see this."

***

They sprinted up the way, but even from the distance they could see the futility of the fort's defenses. The bandit, his helmet and armor shining in the moon light, made quick work of the sentries before bounding up and over the walls. By the time Phil’s team made it inside, a dozen soldiers lay unconscious and the civilians were running for the gate.

Clint scrambled up to a comfortable perch above the barracks. "Should we help him?" he asked.

"I don't think he needs it," Nat answered. She sheathed her knives and moved to the pack animals that had been taken from them earlier - and the weapons they still concealed. She tossed Clint his bow and he quickly nocked an arrow.

Phil joined her and took back his stolen sword. "Let's give him a moment and see what he does to the commander."

"And the treasury," Clint added.

The bandit ripped his way through the soldiers with hardly an effort, dropping each man with a punch or kick; two at most. Within a minute, he had dropped the entire cohort surrounding the principia and then kicked the door (and part of the wall) inside. Before it could fall, the bandit caught the barrel of hot pitch that had been placed above the door and tossed it just inside. Then, he stood to the side and pulled the lantern from the front post.

"Anyone inside this building, step out now. I'm going to light this pitch," he stated calmly.

"Polite, for an arsonist," Nat commented as she watched.

The bandit turned sharply to watch them watching him, as if he'd heard her comment despite the great distance. All three of them reached for their weapons, but the bandit didn't seem to judge them as threats.

"May I borrow your pack animals?" he shouted across the way.

"For what?" Phil called back.

"The injured."

Phil's eyes raised in surprise. Clearly the 'helpful bandit' was not just a rumor. "Yes, of course," he shouted back across the way.

The bandit nodded again and stepped into the building, lighting the pitch behind him. The flames quickly engulfed the building and Phil tensed, ready to rush in after the careless man, but Nat placed a steadying hand on his arm and urged him to just watch. A moment later, the building's side wall burst outward and the bandit walked out into the yard, dragging the unconscious commander and his aide. He tied them both to a horse post and then plunged back into the burning building. When he came back out, he was carrying the enormous treasury vault.

"Holy Hades," Clint stammered out. "How is he carrying that?"

Nat raised her eyebrows with impressed surprise. "Strength of ten men, we'll I'll be damned..."

The bandit walked calmly towards them with a pair of servants following behind. "Who are you?" he asked Phil directly.

"Friends," Phil answered.

"Good. These men will help you load the injured onto your pack animals.”

“And what will you do with the gold?” Phil asked pointedly.

The bandit’s brow furrowed as if confused by the question. “Distribute it among the villagers.”

“Of course…” Clint said, nodding. “After you take a bit for yourself, right?”

“Where is the honor in stealing from farmers?”

Phil's couldn't drag his eyes away from the man's gleaming helmet. It was covered in so many scrapes and dents that Phil hadn't at first recognized it as being of Imperial-Gallic style - almost a century out of use. Despite the age and wear, however, the letters SPQR etched and painted across the brow shone brightly in the moonlight. 

Between the Republican armor and the man's obvious dignitas, Phil suddenly realized he might not be a god at all, but something far more incredible instead. "Sir,” Phil asked cautiously, knowing how crazy it would sound. “Did you fight in the Baduhenna Wood?”

The bandit advanced on Phil, his eyes full of suspicion. "Have we met, sir?"

"No, but I believe you knew my father."

***

The bandit refused to speak another word until they were back in the village. He watched families be reunited and oversaw the distribution of the gold while Phil, Nat and Clint stayed back. They quietly assisted when their help was requested but spent most of their time just watching him work. He had a way about him - a calm, honest demeanor that seemed to bring out the best in every person he met. Even Nat seemed in awe of him.

“Look at how he talks to them,” Nat commented. “Everyone he meets walks away feeling better. It's like he's not even real; more like a dream."

"Yeah, especially for Phil here. You want to fill us in on how a guy that young could have known your dad? What game are you playing, Phil?"

"No game; I just don't think he's as young as he appears," Phil answered. "I never told you that my father fought in the Baduhenna Wood," Phil explained, earning absolute silence from Nat and Clint. Even after all these years, the losses of that day still quieted even the most jaded of veterans.

"If you could get him drunk enough," Phil continued. "He would tell stories about when he and his men were captured by the Frisii. They were set for execution when a young Roman captain walked out of the woods and persuaded them not to kill anyone. Dad and his men were eventually saved by the Fifth Legion, but... Dad never would have lived to see that if not for the Captain’s intervention."

Phil waited for that to sink in, but only found a pair of growing smirks looking back.

"Phil..." Clint started. "I'm sure your old man was a good guy, but you said yourself he was drunk. Why would you even think that captain was real, let alone this guy?"

"It's the helmet. I mean, have you ever seen anything like it outside of a library? And yet, it's exactly as my father described the Captain's."

"It could have been passed down, Phil..." Clint added

"I know it sounds crazy, but there's just something about him I can't explain... something, I don't know... old fashioned."

"Just because someone's old fashioned doesn't mean actually they're old, Phil..."

"I know, I know... there's just something," Phil continued. "The other thing Dad said that I always dismissed as the wine talking, was that the young Captain was old fashioned even _then_ \- that he'd claimed to have fought with Germanicus. I just... I need to ask him; I need to know."

"I did not fight with Germanicus," the bandit said as he approached and took off his helmet, revealing the youthful face behind.

"See, Phil...?" Clint started

"I fought _against_ him."

"Wait... what?" Clint finished.

"He sought me out after Teutoburg. I can't claim to have defeated him, but at least the Emperor thinks twice about crossing the Rhine to this day."

"This is crazy," Clint pressed. "There's no way you're that old and even if you were, this is _Germanicus_ we're talking about. He brought back the Eagles, didn't he Phil?"

"And massacred every Marsi man, woman, and child he could find. He was a monster," the bandit answered firmly. "I forced him home after the Weser, but the slaughter he inflicted... I've never seen anything like it even since."

"You fought for the germans...?" Nat asked with quiet awe, like she just couldn't help herself.

"I fight the Empire, ma'am," the bandit answered firmly.

"Then why the SPQR?" Clint asked. "Why dress like the legions if you're fighting them?"

The bandit looked at him quizzically. "I swore an oath to serve the Senate and the People. I will do that until the end."

"The legions do that as well," Clint rebutted.

"The legions serve a king," the bandit corrected.

"Emperor."

"Explain to me the difference." The bandit crossed his arms and waited for an answer, but Phil had none; it was something he'd been asking himself since Nero.

Clint crossed his arms as well. "Alright, alright. Let's say I buy that you're as old as you claim. How?"

"I'm not sure myself; it all happened so fast and so long ago," the bandit answered.

"Were you cursed?" Nat asked.

"In a way," he answered. "I was just a street kid from Regio IX. We had to fight for everything we needed and I always managed to lose."

"A big guy like you?" Nat pressed.

The bandit smiled like he knew what he was about to say would be hard to believe. "I was only 5 pes tall back then. But I met a man of learning who changed that. He was being supported by Cicero and had created a potion of some kind that would transform an average person into a titan. Cicero knew what was coming with Caesar and knew the Senate would need someone who could fight the way he couldn't. But even still, Cicero feared giving that kind of power to a soldier - he didn't want to stop a dictator by creating a more powerful one, so he sent Dr. Erskine to find someone... different and, well," the bandit paused and looked away as if embarrassed. "He picked me."

"And you haven't aged since?" Clint asked, amazed.

"Neither I nor my oath have changed. I promised to fight the Emperor wherever he did harm and I will continue to do that until the gods let me die."

"What about giants?" Phil asked.

"What do you mean?"

"We're on our way to Britain, where giants are causing trouble north of the Wall. We could use a man of your abilities - will you join us?"

"North of the wall?" the bandit asked. "Meaning you're off to help Britons, not Romans?"

"We help whoever needs it," Phil answered.

Steve looked from Clint to Nat and then back to Phil. “You are not soldiers, but you are clearly not civilians. Who are you?”

“I’m Phil Coulson; I’m an agent of Shield and this is my team.”

“Doesn't Shield report to the Emperor?” the bandit asked with skepticism.

“Everyone reports to the Emperor, eventually,” Phil answered honestly. “But we have more… latitude than the army. We help whoever needs it.”

The bandit looked to Nat and Clint again. It was clear he was skeptical, but it was just as clear that he was not a man who turned down requests for help. After a moment, he held a hand out to Phil. "Alright. I’ll come with you to Britain, but don’t ask me to follow orders or support the Emperor's ambitions in any way.”

"You'll fit right in, Captain…" Phil answered as he reached to shake the bandit’s hand.

“Steve Rogers.”

“Welcome to the team, Captain Rogers.”

***

Anthony Stark's villa on the Southern British coast rivaled the greatest palaces Phil had seen anywhere in the Empire. It boasted manicured gardens and private baths, libraries, athletic grounds, and fine sculpture crammed into every alcove. It had obviously been built by the finest craftsmen money could buy - and designed expressly to show that. The mosaic floor of the peristylium alone was elaborate enough to leave Clint staring wide eyed and self-consciously wiping his muddy boots.

"Phil, it is a pleasure to see you again," called a tall, beautiful woman as she strode across the atrium towards them. "I missed you the last time I was in Rome."

"Yes, that was a busy year for all of us, but I see the hostilities were good for business."

"Everything is good for business. That's the Stark family motto, I believe," she answered with a wink before turning her gaze to the team. "It's good to see you and your team again and..." Phil took her hint and turned to introduce her.

"Steve, this is Pepper Potts; she manages all of Mr. Stark's affairs. Ms. Potts? Steve Rogers."

"Ma'am."

"Charmed," she answered turning a wink back at Phil. "But you didn't come all this way to introduce a new team member, I'm sure. How can we help?"

"We have some business to conduct in the North and I'm hopeful Mr. Stark can help us with that."

"I'm sure he can, if you can get him out of the shop."

"In a creative phase, is he?"

"You know, Tony," she said. "There's always something on his mind."

Phil quickly translated that statement in his head: Tony was working obsessively again and it might take some effort on Phil's part to get his full attention. He nodded to Pepper to acknowledge her subtle warning.

"Alright, I'll take my chances with him, but this has been a long voyage for my team. Can they take in the grounds?"

"Of course!" Pepper answered, beaming as she turned to the others. "Let me take you to the baths. They are _amazing_ after a long voyage and then tonight, we'll feast."

A steady look from Phil told Nat and Clint that all was well and they happily went off with Pepper, dragging Steve behind them. Neither one was going to pass the opportunity to soak and steam a near month's worth of travel away. Phil watched them go and then went back outside towards Tony's workshops.

***

Tony's new smithing shops were much further back on the grounds than the original ones had been and when Phil passed the scorched and exploded ruins of those old ones, he thought he knew why; Tony was playing with fire again.

Phil poked his head cautiously into the new shop and watched Tony work the enormous billows. Even from distance, Phil could see Tony was in much better shape than the last time they’d met. He was wearing a thick, leather apron, but his heavily muscled arms betrayed a startlingly different physique from the slimmer one Phil remembered. As Tony pulled a long bar of white-hot metal from the fires and began pounding it flat, Phil realized this type of physically demanding smithing work must have become more than just a hobby for Tony – and must have demanded a type of mental focus Phil never thought him capable of achieving before. Phil thought back to the pampered nobleman he had always known and began wondering what had inspired such a major change of lifestyle.

A glimpse towards the shop’s rear wall gave him a clue. Armored chest pieces hung in a neat row there, each piece unique and incredible. Aside from one crude looking piece that seemed cobbled together from scrap metal, the pieces blended the best materials and design elements from around the world. Each was beautiful in its own way and oddly terrifying, for inert objects.

They were clearly the products of an obsessed genius with a penchant for war and Phil found himself remembering the account of Tony’s escape from the Brigantes last year. Perhaps the man hadn’t recovered quite as completely as he’d led Shield to believe.

"I heard you were dead," Tony called out between hammer strikes, breaking Phil’s thoughts.

"Only temporarily," Phil answered.

Tony's eyebrows rose in amusement, clearly waiting for more of the story, but Phil just shrugged like it had been no big deal. "I needed to make a trade with Pluto," he said.

Tony waited another moment for more and then smiled. He plunged the metal piece into water and set it aside to cool. "I always love your stories, Agent. They're so rich with nuance and detail."

"Much like yours, Stark. What was it you told me about the Brigantes, again?" Tony's look steeled behind a defensive smile and Phil knew he'd hit his mark. Tony had been held and tortured during the most recent uprisings - that much Phil knew - but Tony had never given a single, truthful detail about his time in captivity.

"As I told you then," Tony answered, setting down his tools and wiping his hands on his thick leather vest. "They were lovely hosts. We had a conversation about the Empire's business in the North... which is exactly what we should be talking about now. So, what brings you to my door, Agent? Trouble on the Danube?"

"Giants, actually."

Tony's eyebrows went up again with amusement. "Well, well. Look who packed his Big Boy boots. I didn't think giants were your style... anymore."

Phil smiled his own steeled smile. Touche.

"They've been causing trouble north of here. We're going to settle it."

Tony laughed. "Oh, you are, are you? Did you bring a legion with you or were you just going to offer them a snack?"

"Where's your faith, Stark? We handled your 'supply' problems in Antioch..." he answered, pausing to let Tony remember the _enormous_ favor he owed Phil's team. "You don't think we can handle a couple of giants?"

"No," Tony answered, grinning. He walked over and slapped Phil on the shoulder. "But I can at least make sure you go out with a bang. Let me pull together a few toys and tomorrow I'll teach your team to not blow themselves up."

***

Stark's baths were better than the ones back home not just because of the fine mosaics and sculptures that graced each room, but because they were so quiet. The ones in Rome - even the private ones near the Shield villa - were almost always full and echoed with the sounds of private (and not so private) conversations. They were largely functional and not at all the places you would go to be alone. But in these baths, the only sounds Phil could hear were the ones he made as he moved through the rooms and their successively warmer pools.

Here, Phil could think and breathe. It was heavenly.

He felt his muscles relax with each move until he found himself reluctant to move again. He closed his eyes and sank into the water, breathed the steam deeply into his lungs and wordlessly thanked Stark for putting so much thought into the heating system's design.

Lazily opening his eyes again, Phil stared up at the mosaic ceiling where Mars and Venus stared back from their playful embrace. The scene was more than a bit naughty and Phil soon found a smile tugging at his lips; more so when he heard the quiet splash of someone entering the pool's far end and making their way towards him.

"I thought you'd be feasting," Phil called out without looking.

"I was, but it was missing someone," Clint answered as he slid onto the seat next to him and quickly copied Phil's pose. They stared at the ceiling for a moment until Phil saw Clint's smile broaden out of the corner of his eye. Clearly, he wasn't the only one amused by the scene above.

"Are the others still around?" Phil asked casually.

"Nat and Pepper are still going pretty strongly, but Steve went to bed," Clint answered. "Are you sure about that guy, Phil? I mean, he's been fighting Emperors for over a century. What if he turns on us? You know, since we work for one."

"He won't."

"Phil..."

"Clint," Phil said, cutting him off. "He could have let my dad be killed; he didn't. He could have killed that commander; he didn't. Steve's not fighting people, he's fighting an ideology and along the way, he's helping whoever he can. He's not that much different from us."

"You really read people that quickly?"

"I read you that quickly."

Clint smiled at the memory. "Yeah.... that really could have gone a different way, couldn't it have?"

"You did shoot me."

Clint laughed. "Yeah... sorry about that."

Phil smiled, too, and pulled Clint into a slow kiss. "It worked out in the end."

"Yes it did," Clint answered, stealing a greedy kiss of his own. "I love getting you out of the city."

"Why's that?"

"You finally start to relax," Clint answered. "And it's definitely easier to get you alone." He reached down to touch Phil's thigh and seeming to raise the temperature of the entire pool with his touch.

Phil nodded up towards the mosaic. "We're not alone now."

Clint cocked an eyebrow as he looked to the gods and then let his smile turn to a mischievous grin. "Close enough and besides, they understand."

Phil felt his own smile turning to match Clint's. "Luckily, we don't have to sneak around like them."

"No," Clint said, pulling Phil from his seat and into a tight embrace. "But it'll be more fun if we do..."

***

The team gathered the next morning in a field near Tony's villa. Nat looked a little worse for wear after her night drinking with Pepper, but Phil couldn't begrudge her; he was having a bit of trouble focusing himself this morning and was starting to wish he'd gotten at least a minute of sleep.

But then again, a glimpse of Clint smiling in the morning sunlight left him regretting nothing.

"It's very simple," Tony started, grabbing their attention. He pulled a small clay ball from the pocket of his leather vest and showed it to them. "This will kill you if you're not careful. It will kill other people if you are."

Clint rolled his eyes. "I've seen plenty of projectiles Stark. What makes this one so special?"

"It’s gooey center." Tony turned and casually threw the ball towards a fencepost; it exploded on contact, splintering the post and sending an enormous fireball into the sky.

Only Nat remained where she stood; the others all dropped to defensive positions or at least, flinched against the heat. Nat, however, looked absolutely unimpressed, which made Stark smile. He pulled a handful of similar balls from his pocket and walked towards her.

"Based on that, you're the only one of this sorry troupe I trust with these."

Nat arched an eyebrow as she considered that; she clearly wasn't disagreeing. "How do they work?"

"The chemical inside reacts to the air. As long as these stay sealed, you'll be fine." He dropped the little cluster into her outstretched palms. "Think you could have some fun with these?"

"Definitely," she answered solemnly.

Her tone sent a chill down Phil's spine, but Tony simply smiled back. "Good. I'll make you a few more, maybe string them into a belt," he said.

"What about me?" Clint asked wide-eyed like a child begging for a new toy.

"I'd like you to try this," Stark answered, picking a long javelin off the grass. He held it out but Clint hesitated to take it, his enthusiasm instantly halted.

"I'm... not a big fan of those."

"Most archers aren't," Tony agreed. He gestured with the javelin again. "Heavy, awkward... I get it, but I'd like you to give this one a try anyway. Aim for that line of targets in the field."

With a skeptical look towards Phil, Clint took the javelin and squared himself to the wooden demonstration targets. He tested its weight a few times, less to learn the weapon and more to settle himself. Phil knew all of Clint's marksman rituals and as he watched the familiar calm settle over him, felt his own familiar sense of awe well up. It wasn't just his muscles, rippling in the sun - still occupying far too much of Phil's attention this morning - but the intense focus and skill Clint brought to his work.

The man was a wonder to watch.

"What's the number one problem with javelins?" Tony asked, interrupting Phil's reverie.

"Once launched, the enemy can pick it up and throw it right back," Steve answered, likely from experience.

Tony nodded in agreement. "Not this one."

Clint launched the weapon and they watched it sail towards the targets. At the top of its arc, the javelin split into three sharp pieces and rained down onto the targets; one javelin, three kills.

Tony signaled for a servant to bring him the pieces. "If the enemy retrieves those pieces," he explained, "they'll only have smaller, lighter pieces to throw back, none of which are capable of building enough momentum to hurt you too badly."

He held a hand up to the protest Clint was about to make and waited for the jogging servant to reach him.

"Thank you, Felix," he said to the burly man. "Would you go get the other thing ready?"

"Of course, Mr. Stark."

Felix moved quickly towards a side building and Tony turned back to the group. When he did, he slowly demonstrated how the seemingly shattered ends fit back together like an elaborate puzzle.

"It'll be a rare barbarian who can fit these pieces together quickly and correctly in the heat of battle, but I'll teach you the trick so you can reuse it. I'll also show _you_ how to lock it so it doesn't split in the air if you need more power, but regardless..." Tony snapped the javelin back into pieces and handed them to Clint. "You'll be able to carry a full complement in a quiver. That's a lot of portable power. Are you excited now?"

"God gods, yes!" Clint cradled the little pieces and beamed at Phil. "Just think what I can do with these..."

Phil smiled back. Between him and Nat, the giants would stand little chance.

A loud clattering noise from the building where Felix had gone caught their attention. As they all turned to watch, Tony casually moved to stand next to Steve. He handed him a seemingly light, round shield emblazoned with a simple star.

"You're going to need this," he said with a smile before looking back towards the building.

Felix had opened the building's wide doors and was guiding a team of servants as they quickly dragged an enormous trebuchet onto the field. The basket had been preloaded with dozens of small boulders.

"We don't need any siege weapons, Tony. We're going for mobility and..."

Felix signaled and the trebuchet was fired directly at them. Phil and the team scrambled to take cover, but Tony stood where he was, smiling casually as if a hail of shot wasn't hurtling directly at him. Phil turned to head back for him, but Steve pushed Phil back and out of the way. He grabbed Tony by the shoulders and pulled him down, covering him with his body and the upraised shield.

Phil heard the shot hammer the shield with heavy thuds and he had to force himself to look up. He had seen the kind of damage artillery like that could do - seen it rip through shields and men like paper - and he did not want to see that kind of reckless carnage again.

But he needn't have worried. Tony sat smiling on the ground, staring up at Steve. They were surrounded by the pockmarks left by deeply embedded shot, but were unharmed. It had all bounced harmlessly away without leaving so much as a dent in the shield.

The shocked look on Steve's face spoke for all of them.

"That is the strongest and lightest metal on Earth," Tony explained, standing up. "I won it off of Vulcan himself and let me tell you, that guy is one sore loser."

"We could have been killed!" an exasperated Steve shouted at him, but Tony waved it off.

"No, I was never in any danger. It was the perfect demonstration."

Steve's mouth fell agape staring at him. "You couldn't have known I would intervene. You don't know anything about me."

"I've known everything I've needed to since you crossed my threshold," Tony answered seriously. "You take better care of your armor than yourself and you've shown everyone in my household - from Pepper to the guy who mucks the stalls - the highest respect. You wear your values on your sleeve, Cap. So I'm going to give you that shield to protect them. I can't think of anything more appropriate, can you?"

"I cannot. Thank you, Mr. Stark."

"You're welcome. It's the least I can do."

It was a touching scene... that Phil wasn't buying. "And what is all this going to cost us, Stark?"

Tony looked at him with his wolf like smile. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing... except my company. I have equipment to test and you are providing me the perfect opportunity."

And there it was - the shoe Phil had been waiting to drop. He had been working with Tony long enough to know his generosity always came at a price... and Tony had been extremely generous ever since they'd arrived. Tony was playing some angle and Phil doubted it was just to test equipment.

"I appreciate all that you do for Shield, Mr. Stark, but this is not going to be a good situation for a civilian. Giants are not creatures to fool around with."

"No one will be fooling around. I have equipment that needs testing before I give it to your fellow agents. Unless, of course, you'd rather I send people into sticky situations with weapons I can't guarantee."

Again, Phil wasn't buying Tony's rationale. "And that we'll be heading into Briganten territory is purely coincidence, I suppose, and of no interest to you?"

Tony's smile hardened like iron. "Everything is of interest to me. It's why the Emperor comes to me when he has questions," he answered with a completely unmasked threat. Clearly Tony meant business...

Phil saw Natasha tense just slightly at the words and Phil knew he needed to handle this delicately. He knew as well as Tony did how he compared in the Emperor's estimation and that this was a battle he would not win. More than that, though, he knew what Tony had been like before the Brigantes - before the trauma had filled him with anger and obsession. Maybe allowing Tony to come along and see how he and his team resolved problems with cool heads would help Tony more than leaving him to sit alone in his shop, surrounded by weapons.

"Alright, Mr. Stark, but it'll be important that you follow my instructions, same as the rest of the team. Lives will be at stake."

"Lighten up, Cassandra. Everything will be fine," Tony answered, obviously pleased to have his way. "I'll even let you pick out a toy of your own."

Phil patted the sword at his waist. "That's not necessary, but thank you." Then he signaled for Nat and Clint to start packing up before turning back to Tony. "I'd like to get on the road soon. We still have a few days travel ahead of us."

Tony smiled as he waved him off. "Nothing of the sort. We'll take Lola and get there in half the time."

***

'Lola' was a chariot unlike any Phil had ever seen. Tony had designed an elaborate gear and suspension system that allowed the horses to run further and faster before tiring, but none of that technology outshone the sleek finish. It was a vehicle of such elegant beauty and so unlike the functional transport he was used to, that Phil found himself just staring and coveting.

"Easy, stud. You've only just met her," Tony mocked as he stepped up onto the frame.

"Yet I can already tell you don't appreciate her."

They laughed it off, but Phil spent much of the ride hating how Tony handled her. Nothing that beautiful should be touched so roughly, in his opinion.

Say what he would about Tony, though, his connections proved useful. They were able to swap out horses in villages along the way and buy whatever supplies they needed. They were in Briganten territory by the following evening.

Once there, Phil became convinced he'd found the afterlife.

The moors stretched before him in an expanse of greens and purples more beautiful than anything he had seen anywhere in the Empire. Even the air was sweet enough to taste. It was an experience Phil was sure he'd never forget so long as he lived - it was as close to the Elysian Fields as he had ever wanted to come.

But his peaceful mood was quickly tempered as he remembered that was exactly what these fields had become for Vitellius and his team.

They moved quickly and purposely, but Phil had to admit he was not surprised by what they found. What was left of the field station had been scattered among the brush; it had not only been burned, but crushed.

"They knew they were going to die," Nat said bluntly from where she was kneeling beside a pile of ash. "They started to burn their files, but whatever happened was too quick for them to do a good job of it."

"Or to bury their teammates," Clint added with a grimace. The bones he'd found had been heavily scavenged, but were still recognizably human. Phil came to look and turned over a few pieces. He found a gold Shield ring tucked among the remains; the engraved initials told him it was Vitellius'.

Phil stood and scanned the rest of the site without any hope of finding survivors. Vitellius must have sent the note on with a courier before facing the end, like a good agent. "Alright. Find the rest of them, as much as you can anyway. We'll do the rites before we do anything else."

Before long, they'd gathered what they could and made the fires. Phil led them through the ritual and wished his brothers well in the afterlife.

They spent the last of the daylight gathering what else they could. Nat and Tony pulled legible files from the ashes while Clint and Steve tracked prints among the heather. They set their camp and Phil called first watch. He silently urged Clint to leave him with his thoughts and was glad to have no protest for once. Before long, they'd all gone to their tents and Phil was alone under the stars.

He didn't need evidence from the scene to tell him that something was very wrong. Giants wouldn't have left the bodies to be eaten by animals; they'd have eaten them themselves. Something else had killed these agents, but whatever it was, it was just as big and strong as a giant. And just as terrifying.

Phil needed some time to tamp down the fears that were rising in him, but the moor would not allow it. The winds rippling across the brush made it seem to move and breathe like a living thing, dark and malevolent. Only his training and experience with far deadlier things allowed him to keep his seat, but despite that, Phil couldn't shake the feeling of being watched constantly and from all angles.

His weak arm ached as a chilly night wind struck him and he was suddenly flooded with memories of that fateful night. He'd had first watch then as well.

_"We need cavalry!"_

_"There are none left, sir!" Phil had shouted._

_"The trebuchet, then! Fire something at them!"_

_"There's nothing left to shoot! It's just us and our swords, sir!"_

The Guard Captain had been no coward. His family had served in the Praetorian Guard for generations and so he'd grown up facing dangers Phil had known only from training manuals. When the man started to run, Phil had known to follow.

_"Sir, wait! We'll never out run them!"_

_"Of course not, Coulson! Just pay attention!"_

They'd torn their way through the trees as if Cerberus itself had been behind them, which in a way it had been. A family of three giants were smashing through the trees behind them, hard enough to cause the ground to tremble and make it that much more difficult for Phil to keep his feet. He'd been certain that at any second a branch or rock or the vibrating Earth would cause him to trip and that would be the end of Matella Coulson's only son; crushed beneath the feet of a creature she wouldn't have believed existed.

He'd been so scared he'd had difficulty hearing the Captain over the pounding in his ears.

Running was futile, Phil knew that. They needed their torches to see three feet in front of them, but carrying them meant the giants had something to chase. Phil and the Captain would die with them or without them; it was just a matter of time.

_"When I tell you, throw your torch directly in front of you and then jump to your left. Do you understand, Coulson?"_

_"No, sir!"_

_"Then just obey. Throw and jump exactly when I tell you and not a moment later."_

Never before or in the years since had Phil placed such blind faith in one person. It wasn't that he had particular faith in the Captain - the man was thieving, manipulative scum as far as Phil was concerned - but the normally tactical Phil couldn't think about anything in that moment except the taste of adrenaline filling his mouth and the stench of giant sweat filling his nose. In hindsight, Phil probably would have dropped his sword and done a somersault if the Captain had ordered it at that moment, so obeying wouldn't be Phil's problem.

Hearing the order would be.

The lead giant had been only feet behind. It lashed out at Phil and splintered a tree with an almighty crack that made his already pounding ears ring. That he kept his feet was amazing, that he did it with shut eyes was staggering.

He opened his eyes in time to see the Captain throw his torch. It couldn't have been more than a second later that he threw his own, but the delay was enough to send Phil tumbling blindly off a cliff face before he could jump left. He scrambled for purchase and caught on to a bush strong enough to hold him while the rampaging giants chased the torches over the edge and down the dark chasm.

The last of the giants had tried to slow his momentum, though. He slid his heels and grabbed for purchase just as Phil had done, but because of his size, started to bring the whole cliff face down. Phil's hold was gone in a moment and he felt the sickening spike of more adrenaline as he started to tip backwards... until a rough hand grabbed him.

_"I told you to jump, you idiot."_

Phil was pulled roughly back onto the ledge and shut his eyes as he rolled onto his back. He was sure he'd have passed out if he hadn't.

_"Thank you, sir," he managed to say to the Captain lying next to him, breathing just as heavily._

_"Remember this for your report. The Emperor will..."_

But Phil would never know what the Emperor would or would not have done because the giant had not fallen after all. He'd gotten purchase somehow and slung a wide, heavy hand up and over the cliff, crushing the Captain and Phil's arm flat underneath.

The funny thing about it was that Phil had felt nothing, not pain or fear or grief. It was as if a cold blanket had dropped over him, giving him clarity of focus like he'd never had before. When he looked at the giant's hand, all he could think was that its face must be close by.

And that that face would have vulnerable eyes.

Phil plunged his sword at where he reasoned those eyes must have been, heard the scream, felt the warm ichor wash down his arm, and thanked the gods it was too dark for him to really see more. After the giant fell, Phil simply stood in a daze and wandered back to camp, never so much as even looking at his arm. It wasn't like he could feel it anyway.

Nick Fury, the only other survivor, would later find him and together they dragged an entire cohort of men - brothers - to the pyres they built. Nick said the rites and led Phil to the closest village, where he healed as best he could.

Nick had recognized the trauma and the deadening behind Phil's eyes and promised to find him new purpose so Phil might return home still wanting to live. Nick taught him to fight smarter (and dirtier) to mask his injuries, to control his fears, and achieve the impossible.

When Phil was eventually recruited to Shield, Nick was probably the only agent who knew Phil even had a weak arm. All anyone else knew about Phil Coulson was that he was a stone cold, tactical, son of a bitch. He stared down the worst the gods were able to send at them - often with a smile - and like Steve, believed his purpose was to protect humanity until the gods let him die.

Until one day he finally learned to live instead, thanks to a young archer who loved life more than anyone Phil had ever known. That had changed his life far more than the giant had.

As Phil sat and scanned the dark moor, he tried to think how the next day might play out. He knew Clint and Nat were two of the fiercest and smartest warriors in the Empire. They would face the giants (or whatever creatures these were) without fear, as they had faced every other threat they'd ever encountered. But would he? Giants still terrified him to his core; he couldn't even attend the annual grape pressings, the sound reminded him so much of the Captain's skull.

He'd put up a good show for Nick and Clint and even managed to put off thinking how he might actually react when the time came, but now that the time had come...

Phil sighed and so seemingly did the moor. Only time would tell.

***

After learning all they could from the site, Phil moved the team up the road to the local village.

They were not welcome there.

From the first field hand they saw to the tavern owner who rented them their rooms, all met them with suspicion and unmasked hostility. Phil smiled and played nice in response. He even let Clint put on a little archery show to wow the crowd (that always played well in the provinces) while the rest of the team asked seemingly innocent questions... but no one would hear them.

“I could have told you that would be pointless," Tony announced as he dropped heavily onto his seat in the tavern at the end of the day. "In fact I did, didn't I? Repeatedly? Brigantens don't play nice with strangers."

"I don't blame them," Steve added as he sat to join. "Very few strangers bring good news to places like this."

"And very few Brigantens offer any in return," Tony continued. "I can promise you they are planning to rob and kill us in the night... and not necessarily in that order."

Phil smiled and sipped his ale. "Probably," he acknowledged.

"They may try…" Nat added quietly from over her tankard. 

"Do you recognize any of them, Stark?" Phil asked cautiously.

Tony's look darkened in response. He pushed back in his seat and shook his head slightly, only just enough to acknowledge the question. "They've had people following us since we arrived, you can't possibly have missed that."

"No one's missed anything, Stark. Except maybe you."

"I doubt that, Barton. All you guys have done since we arrived is smile and ask nonsense questions. I'm the one who's been sticking his nose in places."

"And getting chased by the very people following us, Stark," Phil said. "What has that accomplished besides making you even more suspicious?"

"We’re already suspicious. They aren't going to answer our questions and pretending we're just tourists - or whatever it is we're doing - isn't going to bring them around any faster. It's time to be direct; find out what's going on and deal with it."

Phil, Clint, and Nat smiled in response. It was almost quaint how green Tony was and just like him to miss all the intel the team had already gathered.

Steve leaned in and got Tony's attention. "There is more going on here, Mr. Stark. These people aren't just being hostile to strangers, they're hiding something and they're scared."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Experience, Mr. Stark."

Tony smiled broadly at the naiveté and looked to the others for agreement, but the team just silently sipped their drinks. After a moment, Tony looked resigned. "Alright then, what's the plan? How do we get it out of them?"

Now it was Nat's turn to smile at naiveté. "We look around, listen, go where we're not supposed to..."

"That's the plan? No plan?"

"That's usually the plan, Stark," Phil answered for her. "We're good at what we do, so just follow our lead."

"If you want a fight, then I'm all for it, but I pegged you lot as being smarter than that. Brigantens protect their own. You start tangling with the guys following us and this whole village will join in. Even the kids. Maybe _especially_ the kids. You up for that?"

Clint chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "There's not going to be a town wide brawl. Even the big guy has figured that out by now. Right, Steve?"

Steve nodded just slightly. "It's true, Mr. Stark. Things won't come to that. We already have an advocate."

"An advocate...?"

"You see, Stark? This is why no one wanted you to come. You don't know what you're doing. And why in Tartarus are you still wearing that leather vest? Can you at least try to blend in?"

"Says the guy with the bow and circus tricks."

"They're protecting something," Nat interrupted. "And someone here is smart and connected enough to get everyone to play nice rather than spark a fight. They want us to move on, quickly and quietly, and they don't want anyone asking questions later."

"And surely you've noticed, Stark," Steve added. "How they've been so careful to keep us on this side of the village? Doesn't it make you curious about what's on the other side?"

Tony's eyes narrowed as he considered everyone. He clearly wasn't used to being lectured. "So then why don't we go take a look? Why are we sitting here drinking ale?"

"Respect for their fear and space," Steve answered.

"And because, as you've already pointed out, a town full of hostile people watching our every move makes investigating difficult," Phil added. "We need to play this more delicately and we need to split up... without," he added quickly before Tony could protest, "making ourselves vulnerable."

"How exactly?" Tony asked skeptically.

Phil drained his tankard in response and signaled to the serving woman. "By working directly with the person in charge."

"You know, our advocate," Nat added with a smile. "Play along, Stark. Watch and learn."

"You folks must be celebrating something," the serving woman said with a smile as she laid out their drinks. "What's the occasion?"

Nat faked a slightly inebriated smile and tucked her arm into Phil's. "My husband's birthday."

"Oh! That's so nice! Well, then your next drink's on me, sweetie," the woman responded with a wink at Phil.

Phil smiled a kind smile. "Thank you, that's very kind, but I will have... have to... have to pass..." Phil leaned forward, stammered out his words and faked a painful sounding series of coughs. When he 'gotten control of himself,' he looked up at the woman and smiled apologetically.

"You're... unwell?" she asked hesitantly.

"I'm fine. It's noth..." Phil broke off into another painful sounding cough. "It's nothing to worry about," he assured her.

Phil knew that disease was nothing short of terrifying to provincial folks. One cough from a traveler and whole towns could be wiped out; he'd seen it happen. And so had the villagers, judging from the way several had turned to stare and were already quietly backing away.

Nat squeezed his hand and turned back to the woman. "We're trying to get Phil to Dumna so he can see the end of the world before..." Nat cut herself off and fixed her face into a sad smile. She touched Phil's thigh and he, reading her play, smiled back and patted her hand, like the kind old loving husband he was pretending to be.

"It's alright, Dove," he said. "I think I just overdid it today. Some rest and I'll be fine."

Nat smiled back, as if she knew it to be a kind lie, and Phil pulled her close, laying a kiss on her brow as he wrapped her snuggly against his chest. The 'dying old man Coulson' routine was a solid one they'd gotten quite good at selling. Like with Nat's 'slave girl' routine, it tended to make people underestimate and ignore them.

Nat pulled away at his touch, though, and looked at him with even more faked concern. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him gently on the lips. "Oh husband, you're burning up. You need rest."

"I'm fine, Dove. I can make it. I'll get you to the end of the world..."

"I don't need to see it, Phil. You're my world. I need you to rest."

Phil nodded in agreement as if he was too tired to argue. "Maybe we'll just stay here for a few days, then. Just until I get my strength. Alright? But um..." he continued, looking up to the serving woman. "Do you think the tavern's owner would let us stay for a few days? Until I catch my breath again? I only ask because..."

"Because everyone's been so mean," Nat answered for him.

"Oh sweetie, I'm sure that's not true."

"No, it is! They've just been awful," Nat insisted. She took the woman's hand, pulled her down onto the seat beside her, and leaned in with wide, almost tearful eyes. She had the look of a woman desperate for another woman's understanding and Phil couldn't help but marvel at how smoothly she created these personas, especially after the serving woman seemed to relax and grow even more sympathetic.

"Can I talk to you? Please? Woman to woman?" Nat pressed.

The woman looked around the table uncertainly, but then nodded. Nat took her arm and they walked towards the far corner, whispering and occasionally gesturing back to the table.

"What is she doing?" Tony asked quietly.

"Buying us time," Clint answered.

"Even out here, Stark," Phil continued. "No one is going to bother a dying old man and his devoted wife. We'll get two or three days of unmonitored time while you three keep everyone looking the other way."

"That... sounds like a terrible plan."

"You'd be surprised." Phil cast a quick glance back at Nat; she had the serving woman's full attention with whatever sad story she was telling. He turned back to Tony. "I'll stay in the room and go through evidence from the scene while Nat disappears and finds whatever they're hiding. Once we know, we'll make a real plan."

Tony just shook his head. "While what? The three of us walk around with sticks up our asses?"

"No, Mr. Stark," Steve said, shaking his own head. "We'll walk around, make friends, and figure out why they are hiding whatever they are hiding."

"And that woman is the key to doing that. Everyone around here is following her lead, or haven't you noticed that?" Clint asked Tony, who said nothing in response; he clearly hadn't.

"I don't think she's from around here, despite her accent, and absolutely every eye in the place has followed her since we arrived," Phil explained. "Play nice and don't cross her tomorrow, but try to figure out who she is and her business here."

Tony's eyes narrowed with skepticism, but Clint and Steve simply nodded at the plan. Nat returned with the serving woman a moment later.

"Phil, Sharon here is very kind. She's going to talk to the tavern owner about us staying a few days and she's even offered to escort your men around town tomorrow."

"It's the least I can do," Sharon, the serving woman, said. "You're our guests and you've been treated unkindly. I'll be happy to give your guards a tour of the town while you recover here."

Phil's eyes flicked to Nat, questioning the slight deviation from the routine. Their usual play was to paint Clint and any other agents with them as simple servants, no one dangerous or worth causing alarm. Something must have spooked her for Nat to bill them as armed guards instead - a subtle warning to Sharon and the villagers not to mess with them, perhaps?

Phil smiled and reached under the table to touch Clint's knee, making sure he'd noticed the change as well. Clint brushed his hand across Phil's, confirming, and immediately adapted to his new role. He sat up, made himself look larger and more menacing, and then leaned in to speak quietly with Phil.

"Are you sure that's what you want, sir? We can stay here with you..."

"No, no," Phil assured. "You three enjoy yourselves for once. I don't think you've even seen the other side of town yet. So relax, take in the sights. We'll be fine here."

Sharon's eyes narrowed just slightly as Phil said it, but then she relaxed into a clearly practiced smile. "Don't you worry, sweetie. There will be plenty for us to see, you just stick with me and I'll make sure you get the best of it."

It was the reaction Phil had hoped to draw from her. Whoever this woman was, she was calm and practiced... and definitely hiding something on the other side of town. He couldn't judge if that statement had been a threat or not, but he smiled and trusted Clint to take precautions.

"Sharon, thank you, that's very kind," Nat said. "Now come, husband. You heard her, they'll be fine. It's you I need to worry about." She moved to Phil and got a supporting arm under him. Clint rose to help as well, really selling the notion that Phil had little strength left to him - Phil wanted Sharon to underestimate him as much as possible.

"Alright, my Dove. You lead the way."

"I always do, Phil," she answered with a slight smirk as she walked him away.

But the moment they were in 'their' room, Phil dropped the act. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Nat answered as she moved to the window and casually looked out onto the street, searching for trouble. "It's just a feeling. She's too calm, too welcoming."

"She could just be a nice person," Phil offered, though they both knew he didn't really mean it. Phil had learned long ago to trust her gut instincts and would follow her play now.

"She was sniffing me out, same as I was her. She's dangerous, Phil, and was all too happy to separate us from the boys. I don’t think our little ruse will last long."

“It doesn’t have to. It just needs to buy us a little time and besides, this is nothing we haven't handled before, Nat."

"Except now we have two unknowns traveling with us. I'd back Steve in a fight, but Stark?"

"Don't underestimate him, Nat. I've seen him fight."

Nat turned to face him with a serious look. "I've seen him fight too, Phil, but his head isn't right. He has some plan of his own - some other agenda - and I don't trust him to be there if we need him."

Phil slowly let out a breath and pulled a short knife from his belt; he tucked it under a pillow, steadying himself against the bad feelings already brewing. "I know," he admitted. "He's not exactly a 'team player,' but the Emperor owes him more than he owes us and Stark's exactly the kind of man to use that leverage. We're stuck with him."

"Clint's stuck with him, you mean."

Phil caught her eyes but said nothing. Neither one of them wanted to speak that particular worry out loud.

"Clint knows how to survive."

"I know," she answered, turning back to her window. "I want to follow Sharon tonight and see where she goes. Will you be alright if I leave you?" Nat asked with uncharacteristic concern.

"Fine, why?"

She shrugged, but didn't turn from the window. It seemed she was intentionally not meeting his eyes. "You've been distracted all day. Something's up with you, too."

"I'm fine, Nat," he answered, pushing confidence into his voice. "There's nothing here I can't handle."

She nodded. "Understood," was all she said.

It was clear to Phil she did not believe him and he was embarrassed that she'd picked up on his lingering doubts from the night before - embarrassed they still showed at all. It built in him as a cold anger that he'd gotten so careless with his emotions.

He was better than that or, at least, used to be. If he couldn't get better control over himself, he'd risk becoming a distraction to her and the team, possibly a deadly one.

And he'd face a hundred giants before he'd allow that.

"I'm fine, Nat," he said again. "Do you trust me?"

"Always," she answered quickly.

"Good, then just worry about Sharon. We'll be fine here. I promise."

"You know what I say about making promises."

"That I damn well better keep them."

She turned and searched his eyes for a moment before returning to her window vigil. "You better," she said quietly, almost too quietly for him to hear.

***

Sharon was clearly trained. She was startlingly difficult to follow and Nat actually lost her twice as she tracked Sharon to the other side of town and then out on to the moor. With little cover save for the darkness, Nat had to be overly cautious and it nearly cost her the whole operation, but watching Sharon move quickly and fearlessly across the terrain left her wanting to recruit the woman. Fury would love her.

Before long, Nat noticed chimney smoke on the horizon and slowed down her chase. Their destination was more obvious now and Nat didn't want to risk anything by tracking too closely. Nat watched Sharon all the way to a little dwelling, where Sharon knocked on the door before peering back into the darkness for followers.

After a moment, a man opened the door, casting a warm fiery glow onto the moor. He looked out past Sharon and shockingly, right in Nat's direction. Nat was sure she was far enough away to be unseen but even still, dropped lower in the brush as she watched, just in case.

It was unnerving to watch him stare back at her, but Sharon wasn't the only one with training. Nat sat still and stared back, almost daring the man to make a move... if he really could see her, that was. Nat still wasn't sure.

When she was just about ready to accept her cover was blown, the man stepped back inside and invited Sharon with him. Nat took the opportunity to get closer, moving quickly to reach the little window and crouch below.

 _"There are people in town from Rome,"_ Nat heard Sharon say.

 _"What do you mean by 'people'?'"_ the man answered with little worry in his voice.

_"They claim to be tourists, but there's no way that's true. They were far too confidant, even for patricians. They're trained, connected... dangerous. I'll keep an eye on them, but you've got to be careful."_

_"I'll be fine, Sharon."_

_"You can't underestimate them, Bruce. Not again. Wait, please... stop. Look at me, please. I'm sorry, that was out of line. I'm just worried. After what happened last time..."_

_"That wasn't your fault."_

_"It wasn't yours either, but we always knew they would send someone to investigate. That time may have come."_

_"And if it has, I'll take care of it. I won't let anything happen to the village."_

_"Neither will I, but I won't sacrifice you, either."_

There was a long pause and Nat risked a look inside. The man - Bruce - made for a curious sight. He looked slightly disheveled with ill-fitting clothes and a mop of unruly curls, but Nat didn't get the impression he was slovenly. The crude shelves behind him were full of books, scrolls, and tablets; maybe he was some sort of absent-minded scholar type.

But there was a confidence about him, too, that Nat couldn't fully explain. It was like he was the one with all the power in the room, even though Sharon was the one who was armed.

He stepped towards Sharon and placed strong-looking hands on her shoulders. When he smiled, Nat noticed Sharon relax her hand off the knife hilt she'd been touching.

"I'll be fine, Sharon. But thank you for the warning. Do you want to stay? I can make up another bed."

"No, no," Sharon answered with a heavy, resigned sigh. "I'm babysitting in the morning on the off chance they are who they claim to be."

"Your instincts are rarely wrong. Please be careful."

Sharon turned towards the door and Nat dropped back out of sight quickly. She moved to the dwelling's side and heard the creak of the door opening a moment later.

"I'll do what I can, but Bruce..."

"I'll be alright..."

"I know you will, but we can't afford to see the other guy right now. I’ll keep them on the other side of the village; hopefully they won’t even notice this place is here, but stay low and avoid the village, alright?"

"Of course; I know the rules. Good night, Sharon. Thank you again."

Sharon moved quickly away across the moor, pulling her cloak just a little tighter across her shoulders as she went. Nat watched her go but stayed motionless; she still hadn't heard the door shut closed.

It was several more minutes before the door did shut, long after Sharon had stopped being visible on the moor. Nat couldn't imagine Bruce had been able to see her, but she wasn't willing to dismiss the possibility either. She was still unnerved by the way he'd seemed to see her in the dark earlier.

There was something about him, something dangerous despite the pleasant tone he'd used in his talk with Sharon. It reminded her of the quiet purring she'd heard from a lion in a circus once. It had quietly watched its prey with an almost bored laziness, biding its time until it was ready to hunt. Nat had an unsettling feeling that Bruce was doing exactly the same thing and it made her suddenly feel very far away from Coulson.

And very curious about Bruce.

She moved quietly out to camouflage herself among the brush and settled for the night. She'd keep a very close eye on him and with a little luck, it wouldn't be long before they found out which of them was the more dangerous predator.

***

Phil was up and working before first light, though 'up' wasn't a wholly accurate term as he hadn't actually slept.

Clint had found his way into the room at some point in the night and with Nat's concerns still fresh on his mind, Phil had been eager to see him. He didn't say a word and hadn't needed to hear any in return; it was enough that Clint was there with him in that moment. No matter how far from Rome they travelled, Phil always felt home in his arms. He knew all would be well.

Long after Clint had fallen asleep, Phil had laid awake beside him, allowing the familiar sound of Clint's breathing to calm and focus him. He began listing the open questions he had for the mission and planning team tactics in response. He was determined there would be no mistakes, no unplanned for events, no slip ups. He was going to be focused and in control and he was going to keep everyone safe.

By the time the sun came up and Clint started to stir, Phil had already been up and organizing evidence from the scene for over an hour.

"You know," Clint mumbled sleepily as he rolled from bed. “i take back what I said about you relaxing outside of the city.”

Phil gave him a look before turning back to the burned scraps he was organizing. "I'll relax when I know what happened to Vitellius."

"No, you won't."

"Fine. I'll relax when I know enough about what happened to deal with it."

"Liar..." Clint moved to the window and stretched in the early morning sun.

"We need to know what we're facing if we're going to stop it, Clint."

"When has that ever been true?" Clint asked, turning back to him.

Phil gave him a look and ignored the broad smile he got in return. "There's something about this one, Clint. Nat feels it too - this is going to be different from anything we've faced."

"It always is, Phil." He walked over and took a cursory look at the fragments on the table. "You really think you're going to get something useful out of this mess?"

"Honestly? No. But I need to be sure."

Clint let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes, but Phil knew it was only to lighten Phil's too-serious mood. Clint had learned to trust his over-preparations years ago and wouldn't dare try to stop him. Instead, Clint poked around at the scraps and tried his best to look disinterested.

Phil knew better about that, too. Clint loved puzzles and because his hawklike eyes could spot the tiniest of variations and anomalies, he was wickedly good at them. Possibly as good as Phil. It was a source of constant argument and competition.

Clint lightly pulled a scrap of paper from one of Phil's piles and turned it over in his hand, trying to make out the words. "I don't think this is Latin."

"Most of it is, but that pile is... 'other.' I can't decide if they're letters or drawings. Some Northern language, maybe?"

Clint nodded and carefully selected two more scraps from the pile and a third from a different pile. He laid them on the table and fit them together just as easily as if they were obvious matches.

"Looks like they're both," he said with a competitive wink as he slid the set across towards Phil.

"Show off."

"And you love it..." Clint moved back across the room, picking up his clothes and dressing. "But you're clearly in a mood and judging by how much fun you're about to have... I'm going to go wander around a town full of people who might want to kill me and leave you alone to think about how I solved your puzzle in like, three seconds."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't," Phil answered, smiling at what was rapidly becoming a code between them.

"Don't worry about the Big Bad, Phil," Clint added, turning serious for once. "We'll figure it out together, like we always do."

"I had to pay Pluto a visit the last time you said that."

"And I never thanked you for that. Oh wait... Yes, I did. About a _thousand_ times. Last night, even. But you know you didn't have to come for me, Phil. I made that choice with my eyes wide open."

"I know you did, that's why I went," Phil answered. "But I'd like to solve this one without being damned, if I can."

"They're just giants, Phil. We'll take care of them and then get out of here."

Phil nodded unconvincingly and pulled a small knife from his belt. He held it out to Clint. "Take this with you today."

"Your father's knife? Phil, I don't..."

"Please just humor me this once. Take it; you know it is good luck."

Clint crossed back to him and kissed him gently, cupping Phil's face between his strong, reassuring hands. "This isn't Belgica, Phil. No gods this time, no funny business. We'll get out of here soon and head home."

"Is it strange I kind of like it here?"

"No, I saw how you looked at the moor. And who knows? Maybe the villagers will be so overcome with gratitude, they'll ask us to stay."

"You're just full of confidence this morning, aren't you?"

Clint stepped back and gave Phil his most winning smile, the one Phil had died for. "Always," he said with a wink before heading out the door.

Phil watched him go and only briefly allowed himself to think back to that day he'd lost him. For all his antics and sarcasm, Clint was a selfless man. He'd allowed himself to be sacrificed to Pluto to prevent that Belgic cult from sacrificing children. He'd never even hesitated.

And neither had Phil. After finding Clint's body, Phil had found his way to the Underworld and made a deal to bring Clint back. Someday, Phil would have to tell Clint the details of the trade, but hopefully not until they were old and grey, long after it was too late for Clint to do anything about it.

But for now, Clint was right; giants were nothing compared to the scheming gods. Maybe things with the Brigantes wouldn't be so bad after all. The thought put his fears in check.

He sat back and studied the little scraps Clint had fit together, refocusing himself. The sharp, stick like markings Phil assumed were foreign letters seemed to form a word, underneath which Vitellius had written the Latin translation.

Or transliteration, perhaps, as Phil had never heard of a Latin word 'Loki.'

***

Nat adjusted her position in the field ever so slightly, stretching her back without rippling the grass around her. She'd spent a remarkably pleasant night watching unknown stars rise above her. They were captivating to watch; so unlike the ones seen from Rome and mesmerizing in their numbers.

Bruce clearly thought so as well. He had come outside at one point and watched them too, sipping a drink and making notes in a little book. Nat couldn’t shake the feeling that he was waiting for something or someone; he seemed pensive and hyperaware, reacting to sounds in the night. But even still, he seemed the master of his space, quiet and confidant in his solitude.

In that way, he was mesmerizing too.

Nat watched him through the quiet night, even after he’d fallen asleep in his little chair, and became absolutely certain he was dangerous. In her experience, no one slept that peacefully unless they were ignorant of the danger around them or completely certain they could handle it.

The sun was just poking its way up the horizon the next morning when Bruce finally stirred. He walked slowly, stretching as he went, to a nearby stream, where he pulled small fish from a weir before heading back to his home. Nat smelled the fire he built and, a few moments later, the oatcakes he was baking.

Nat's stomach growled involuntarily and she was just reaching for a strip of dried meat in her pouch when Bruce came to the door and looked directly at her.

"I have plenty for us both if you'd like to join me," he said.

She didn't move at first. She knew she was perfectly concealed in the grass and there was no way he'd seen her, but he continued to stare unflinchingly in her direction until she was forced to admit he had her dead to rights.

"How?" Nat asked simply as she stood to face him.

"You smell of olive oil," he answered with a shrug

Olive oil, of all things. She'd washed with it at Stark's bath, but that had been days earlier and he could smell it on her? At this distance? Suddenly her lion analogy from earlier seemed unsettlingly accurate.

She fingered the handle of a knife, ready for an attack if he made one, but Bruce simply smiled and moved inside, leaving the door open for her.

The main room was small, combining a work space and kitchen. Sunlight was able to reach in through the tiny windows, but only by sneaking through the stacked books and mechanical instruments in darting, truncated rays. There was a second room at the rear - the bedroom likely - but given how dark it was, it was unlikely to offer Nat even a window as secondary exit.

With the door as the only reliable exit, Nat knew this was a terrible place to get cornered. Still, she moved further into the room with ease, as if she hadn't a worry in the world. It was a role she’d played many times before.

"I'm Bruce, by the way," he said from the hearth.

"Widow," she answered.

"Excuse me?"

"You can call me, Widow."

"Alright," Bruce said hesitantly. He pulled fish from a pan and set them on the table. "Would you like me to mix wine or will you have what I'm having, Widow?"

"I guess that depends on what you're having," Nat answered.

"Lavandula and honey.” He motioned for her to sit before walking back to the hearth. She complied, choosing a seat carefully and angling it to allow for quick escape.

“Sounds exotic, Doc."

"Doc?"

"All these books... you must be some kind of doctor."

Bruce chuckled lightly to himself, but nodded. "Yes, I am." He brought the rest of the food to the table and then dropped the little dried flowers into steaming mugs of water. He placed one carefully in front of her and offered honey to mix before taking some himself.

Though the meal was quiet and peaceful, Nat couldn't help but notice Bruce was as tense in his seat as she was in hers. He was sitting far enough away from the table to not be trapped by it if he had to suddenly rise and he was gripping his mug tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white. As she watched him take a deep breath of the calming lavandula aroma, she wondered suddenly if he was struggling to remain calm. Was he scared of her?

She forced herself to relax for a moment, just to see what he would do, and when he relaxed in equal measure Nat realized he was playing a role too, same as she was.

"So tell me, Doc," Nat started, hoping to glimpse the real him. "What brings you out here? A man of learning like you... I'd think you'd want to be in a city."

“I like it here, it’s peaceful.”

“And boring. There can’t be much for you to do.”

“You’d be surprised. And what brings you out here? I can't imagine there's much call for an assassin of your skill.”

“You’d be surprised,” she answered.

Bruce smiled at her mimicry but looked away, staring intently into his mug instead. "Are you here to kill me?"

"I don't know you yet, Doc. Are you someone I might need to kill?"

"Maybe," he answered quietly. "Are you here to kill Sharon?"

"I don't know her either."

"Then why are you here? And please spare me whatever story you're selling in the village."

His directness was refreshing. "We heard there was trouble and came to see if we could help," Nat answered honestly.

"Heard from whom?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course."

There was sadness in his voice that made her stop and think. He was right; one person's 'local trouble' was another's 'home defense.’

"We're not here to hurt you or the villagers, if that's what you're asking, Doc. We're here about giants... or something. I don't really know. We never really know until we get here and see for ourselves."

“But who sent you? The Emperor?”

"I doubt he even knows we’re here. Why would you ask me that?"

Bruce shook his head in non-answer, but Nat could see he'd already relaxed considerably. “Are you Shield agents?” he continued.

Nat’s eyebrow went up in surprise. Shield’s existence wasn’t generally known, least of all in the provinces. This Bruce was a very interesting person. “We are,” she answered cautiously.

“And what will you do with these… giants, once you find them?”

“Assess the threat,” Nat answered simply. “Why, Doc? Do you know where they are?”

“What will you do with them?” he reiterated, more strongly. She couldn’t help but notice he’d said ‘with,’ instead of ‘to.’

“Assess the threat," she reiterated.

“And just what constitutes a threat in your eyes?”

Nat sat back and tried to judge him. Was he trying to interrogate her? How delightful… “Something that can’t be reasoned with, I suppose. Something that needs to be put down,” she answered, curious where he was leading her.

“So, you’re not looking for weapons, then?”

“Weapons? You mean the giants? Only an idiot would try to control giants.”

The Doc laughed at her frankness and seemed to surprise even himself, as if he hadn’t laughed in a long time. “I agree completely,” he said and after a moment grew serious again. “But once you find your threat, you’ll… put it down?”

“Giants don’t tend to be reasonable. They’ve killed people and if we don’t stop them, they’ll probably kill more.”

“Very possibly,” the Doc answered with a sad resignation that made Nat pause.

“Is there something else I should know, Doc? There aren’t too many people with empathy for giants.”

“No, no, you’re right. They’ve killed people and they need to be stopped,” Bruce answered, but then his eyes darted to hers and she saw they’d turned a faint green color. “Do you think you can do it?”

His expression had turned cruel in an instant, like a bully turning on lured prey. It made for startling contrast to the man she’d just been talking with so pleasantly. “Was that… was that a threat, Doc?”

“I don’t know, do you feel threatened?” His voice was different this time - huskier - and he was gripping the mug too tightly. It made his hand look larger than it had before. In fact, he looked slightly larger than he had before.

Nat’s heart started to race in response, as if some primal survival instinct had been triggered and Nat suddenly realized that she didn't know who - or what – the Doc was. She reached down slowly and fingered the handle of her closest knife.

The Doc watched her for a moment and then reacted violently as if struck. He pushed back from the table suddenly and clenched his eyes shut. He held closed fists against the sides of his head and shook it quickly as if fighting off a terrible headache.

Nat watched him struggle and thought back to moments earlier when he’d poured the lavandula tea and set it nervously before her. It was clear he’d been using it to stay calm - perhaps he needed to be calm.

She pushed the tea back across to him and waited tensely, ready to jump if made a move for her. But after a moment, the Doc took the tea, breathed the aroma and controlled his breathing. When he looked at her again, his eyes had returned to their darker shade and he looked smaller, frailer before her. Vulnerable, even.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so... rude," he said.

"You didn't seem yourself for a moment, Doc."

"No, perhaps I wasn't. I… I don’t often have visitors. I’m sorry my behavior was so atrocious.”

“It’s alright, Doc,” Nat answered. "Can I ask you a direct question? Without... touching a nerve?"

He nodded to acknowledge and poured more tea. "Go ahead."

"Would you have tried to kill me just then?"

His eyes flicked sharply to hers, but Nat noticed they were still brown in color. He looked away quickly before answering – embarrassed by the truth…

“Yes.”

“I see. You’re not always yourself, are you Doc? There’s someone else in there - the ‘other guy’ Sharon mentioned last night?”

Bruce studied her face for a long moment and sighed with resignation or maybe relief. "Yes, and he's not to be trifled with."

“Neither am I,” Nat answered with a smile, but the Doc just watched her steadily.

“I’m sure you’re not, but neither were those agents who got crushed to death.”

His statement hung in the air for a moment as Nat tried to process it. “What do you know about those agents, Doc?”

“Too much.”

“Do you know how they died?” When Bruce nodded in an unsettling way, she continued hesitantly. “Did you kill them?”

It sounded ridiculous as she said it out loud. She’d been to the scene - the footprints alone proved a giant had been there, not someone small like the Doc – but he didn’t deny it or react to her question at all. The Doc simply stared at her.

“How do you live with what you’ve done?” Bruce asked her.

“What?”

Bruce leaned forward across the table and slowly reached a hand towards her. "May I?" he asked quietly. Nat nodded cautiously and forced herself not to react as he lightly brushed her hair from her shoulders, revealing one of the many, snaking whip scars that crossed her back and neck.

“I’m guessing you’ve… done things you regret,” he continued with obvious hesitation. He was trying to be delicate despite the directness.

Nat pulled away from his hand and brushed her hair back in place. "Who hasn't?"

“I’m not judging… but I… I need to know, from someone who knows.”

“Why don’t you ask your friend Sharon?”

Bruce looked up and smiled. “I don’t think Sharon has a regret in her life. She believes in what she does or she doesn’t do it. I think it’s honestly that simple with her.”

“But not with you, Doc?”

The Doc’s eyes flashed green again, but he quickly shook it away. “I have many regrets. I’m… I’m not always in control of my actions.”

“That sounds like a bunch of crap to me, Doc. We all make choices. We have to live with them, end of story.”

“We live with our actions whether we choose them or not, I’ll give you that.” The Doc sat back and relaxed into his chair a bit. “Do you know why I invited you into my home?”

“To insult me, apparently.”

“Please, no,” he answered. “I don’t mean to come across that way. I just... I invited you into my home to share a meal because last night I waited for you to attack me and you never did. You waited and you watched – you’re in control of your actions. You make choices.”

“What’s your point, Doc?”

“My point is… you understand… dark things, but you’re not a monster.”

Nat smiled coldly, unwilling to indulge his sentiment. It was usually best that people not know the kind of monster Nat could be.

Bruce smiled and shook his head at her reaction. "You scoff, but I think I know you better than you realize."

Like that could possibly be true. He hadn't even asked her name yet. "I doubt that, Doc."

"If I told you I was a monster - a real one like from the stories they tell children - would you believe me?"

Nat thought of his green eyes and nodded reluctantly.

"That's good, because I am. But unlike you and whatever monster you think you’re capable of being, I don't control my actions. One moment I'm me and then... I'm him. And he kills without thought." Bruce paused a moment to steady himself and breathe; keeping himself calm. "I don't have any choices.”

“Did you kill those agents, Doc?” Nat asked again, this time with a deadly seriousness.

“You have to understand…” he started.

“Answer the question.”

“They need me…”

“Who needs you?”

“The villagers. I’m all they have. Without me around…”

The Doc snapped his eyes shut again and shook his head fiercely. It was painful for Nat to watch – the man was obviously crazy.

“Alright, Doc. If you say so, just try to calm down…”

“I’m not crazy,” he snapped at her, his eyes gleaming a brilliant green. "You've caught a glimpse of him, but you haven't met him. He's..."

“Alright, Doc, just calm down…”

He focused on his breathing and Nat let him, not even moving while he struggled to take back control. “You’re not going to be able to stop me, no matter how strong you think you are,” he whispered. “But I need you to know it wasn’t my intent. It was a mistake; I was just trying to protect the village. I need you to believe that.”

“And why should I?”

“Because you understand ‘mistakes,’ don’t you? And you found someone who understood them, too. I need you to be that for me.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you hide your scars, but you're proud of them. You came here with a group, but you work alone. You travel to help strangers, but don't know or seem to care why. I think you do your job and then disappear because you don't think you're fit to join society. You think you belong in the margins; that you’re a monster, like me. But you're not. I think you're filled with regrets and remorse, feelings my monster isn't capable of."

Bruce leaned in, making sure her eyes were on his. "And I think you only give your name when it's earned. Am I right?"

Holy Jupiter, who was this man?

"This isn't about me, Doc," she said tightly.

"No. It's about me. I’ve been asking the gods for help and here you are..." Bruce stood, walked to his book shelf, and selected several small volumes. He brought them to the table and stacked them in front of her. "This is everything I know about giants; characteristics, habits, how to predict their appearance, but this one..." Bruce held the thickest volume reverently, like he was reluctant to give it up. He handed it to her carefully. "This one… is about me, my monster. Take it."

“Why?”

“Because I can’t stop him any longer. And you can't whip me for the things I've done. I tried to... hurt myself once, but the other guy stopped me and then he leveled an entire town to teach me a lesson. Sharon doesn’t understand what it’s like; she never will. She still thinks she can save me… When the time comes, she won’t…”

“Hey, Doc, look. I’m not…”

“But you… you get it. You understand the difference. You’ll know when… when I need to be put down…But the village... they’ll need, you’ll need to… I can’t…”

"Doc..."

His voice had gotten huskier again and he was clearly having trouble steadying himself. Something was happening again and Nat rose this time, knowing things were about to go sideways.

"The giants will be back, they always come back. But, it's all there in those books, you’ll learn to track them, stop them…”

Bruce had clenched his eyes shut and was focusing too much on his words. He looked to Nat like he was trying desperately not to lose what he needed to say. She wondered briefly if he even realized he'd crushed the mug in his hand.

"Doc..." she tried to interrupt as she inched back towards the door.

"You’ll just have to trust me. When they come, the other guy will go after them… but I can’t trust him to stop anymore. He’s getting worse, stronger… He’ll destroy what I'm trying to protect... and he won’t care. You have to..." Bruce dropped to his knee, grimacing against some pain. "...you may have to protect the village from me."

"Doc… just calm down"

"I’m trying, I am… promise me. Promise me you’ll stop me."

"I will, but… you can’t just trust me to…"

"No. You understand what it’s like. You found someone to keep you in check… I need you to do that for me. If I need to be stopped, I need you to find a way…"

"Doc, you need to calm down."

"I’m … trying. I’m…" he stumbled back to the shelf and started pulling items down like he was losing control of his hands. He pulled a small case and with shaking fingers, struggled to control the latch.

A violent spasm hit him and he dropped to the floor, sending the little case skittering across the room. "I can't... It's too late."

"Doc..." Nat started to move to him, but he held up a hand.

"Run!" he shouted, his bright green eyes pleading with her as his body started to swell and morph.

Nat knew better than to run - you never gave a lion something to chase - but she needed to get him out of the house. And she needed that case.

She reached for it and he reached for her with an enormous hand, two or three times the size of Bruce's normal one and just starting to turn green. Nat evaded the grasp and pushed past him to grab the case.

"Go... Please..." Bruce's husky, other voice pleaded but by the time she turned to look, she wasn't convinced Bruce was there anymore. His body was morphing rapidly and, judging from the grimace on his swollen face, painfully.

Nat started to run back towards the door, but Bruce - or the other guy - lashed out and sent the table across the room at her. She leapt, slid across it and got to the door before a frustrated roar shook windows from their frames.

Bruce followed closely behind but had to roughly squeeze his body through the now too-narrow doorway and stumbled to the ground outside. He pounded his fists hard enough to make Nat stumble though she was feet away. Turning back, she watched him continue swelling in violent bursts, muscles ripping their way through his clothes.

He roared loudly enough for the sound to rattle in Nat's chest.

So help her, she froze. He was enormous, taller than the house and wider than any elephant she'd ever seen. Muscles rippled under his dark green skin. He was every bit the childhood monster Bruce had suggested he would be. She was a mouse compared to him.

There was no way Nat was going to stop him with force; she'd have to be smart if she was to survive. Getting the case open despite her own trembling fingers, Nat pulled a set of large, greek-style syringes. "For the love of Eros, Doc, you have got to be kidding me."

A deep, rumbling laugh answered her. The other guy's was a face of pure malevolence; Nat couldn't even make out a hint of Bruce in it.

"Run," he said with a toothy smile, but not in warning as Bruce had done. The other guy - this hulk - wanted the chase.

The taunt was just what Nat needed, though. It snapped her from her shock and focused her on the task at hand. She'd seen mice evade lions before.

Smiling back, she gripped the syringes and picked her target. "Careful what you wish for, big guy."

Nat charged. She'd made a guess of his reach and dove to evade as he lunged for her. She rolled and came up close enough to drive the syringes into his thigh. The plungers were heavier than she'd expected, though, and she was only able to inject him with the contents from two.

In that moment's pause while she tried to work the others, the hulk grabbed her and tossed her into the field. Nat landed on her back, but rolled with it and came up already grabbing for Stark's little bombs on her belt. She threw two at his face and was charging back before they'd even landed. The hulk flailed when they exploded and Nat leapt for him, dropping the plunger on one of the full syringes still jutting from his thigh. She reached for the fourth, but his enormous hand swatted her away, sending her heavily into the amphora lined along the house.

The blow was hard enough that Nat lost feeling in her legs for a moment and in her brief panic, she watched the hulk struggling through his own panic as he tried to wipe Stark's chemical from his eyes. He staggered while frantically rubbing at his face and Nat realized the injections were beginning to be take effect. He was slowing down and having more trouble with coordination, as if he were drunk.

But the effects were taking too long. Maybe the Doc had needed to inject himself before changing or maybe injecting the hulk's thigh hadn't let it get to the blood stream fast enough. Drunk or not, he was still more than capable of crushing Nat into paste.

The last needle - her last chance - was in her hand, having been ripped from his thigh when he'd swatted her away. Nat needed to make it count.

The hulk was flailing blindly trying to find her, swinging enormous arms at every sound, even the ripple of grass. She figured she could evade and get past but then suddenly, the hulk stopped moving. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air.

The olive oil. If Bruce had been able to smell it on her, Nat reasoned the hulk would be all the better at it.

He turned in her direction, eyes still closed, and smiled.

Nat would never be able to charge if he was on to her. Back to the wall, Nat scrambled to her feet, knocking over amphora as she did. As one fell and cracked open, she realized they didn't all contain wine. She glanced at the labels: wine, garum, grain... and finally, olive oil. Nat grabbed that last amphora, uncapped it and sprinted back towards the field.

The hulk took off immediately. Nat had just enough time to toss the amphora left as she leapt to the right. Just as she'd hoped, the hulk followed the more powerful scent. He leapt twenty feet in the air and came down on the amphora with a two-fisted slam that cratered the ground and knocked Nat from her feet.

Nat rolled and sprinted back towards him, clambering up his back and jammed the syringe into his neck. He screamed and grabbed her before hurling her across the field, but he couldn't give chase. The injection had clearly made an impact and from her sprawled position in the grass a hundred feet away, she watched him shake and stumble, trying to clear his head. After a few staggering steps towards her, he crashed heavily to the ground, moaning like a downed beast.

Nat watched him claw pathetically at the ground, digging deep furrows with his thick fingers; he was still fighting against the toxin, fighting for life and Nat wondered for the first time if the toxin would kill him or merely force him to sleep. She wondered as she walked towards the green brute if she'd just killed the Doc, too.

It would be another in a long line of regrets if she had. She didn't know any more about him than he had about her, but Nat knew Bruce didn't deserve this.

She approached him slowly, both out of caution and injury. The hulk struggled to lift his heavy head as she did, but quickly resigned himself to just watch. His eyes kept fluttering as he fought the toxin and for a moment, Nat felt a kind of pity for him. His eyes seemed full of fear and resignation, but not apology. She had seen a similar look in the eyes of a wolf she'd once killed. Animals didn't apologize for what they were, they merely faced the end, as the hulk was doing now, and Nat understood what Bruce had meant. The other guy could not be reasoned with and would not feel regret or remorse for his actions no matter how deeply Bruce felt them.

The hulk was a threat, but Bruce was not. How was she supposed to deal with that?

Nat closed the distance between them and knelt by the hulk's head, watching him as he watched her. His breathing was ragged and she couldn't help notice the low whine escaping his lips.

"Shhh... easy, big guy," she whispered calmly, as she had to the wolf.

He watched her for as long as he could, but his eyelids soon proved too heavy. He let them close and his breathing began to slow. As it did, the body slowly began to shrink and return to Bruce's form.

He was still breathing, she noted with relief, knowing she had one less thing to regret.

It took longer than she was pleased to admit, but Nat eventually got Bruce back inside and settled comfortably in his bed. He wasn't a big guy, but he was dead weight and she was carrying a few injuries that were becoming difficult to ignore.

Having no idea how long he would be out, Nat wanted to make sure there would be no frustrating triggers for Bruce when he woke. She moved quickly and purposely around the little house, resetting the furniture and shelves. She boiled water for tea and set a mug beside his bed before moving back outside and resetting the windows.

After a few hours, though, he was still as dead to world as when she'd settled him. Nat thought briefly of leaving him - going back to tell Phil what she'd learned - but a nagging worry kept her from going. Nat didn't really know what to report and she really didn't like the idea of leaving the Doc so defenseless.

So instead she sat, brewed herself some tea, and started to read his little books.

***

Clint was struggling to maintain his 'menacing guard' persona for the tour.

It wasn't a particularly hard role to play - he'd played it many times in many cities - but he was having too much fun watching Sharon try to wrangle Steve and Tony to hide his mirth.

Steve genuinely seemed to want to help every single villager he came across. He carried amphora for an old woman, caught a running child before he could tumble headlong into nettles, lifted a fully loaded cart so the driver could repair the broken wheel... it seemed the group couldn't travel more than a few feet before Steve spotted some pressing need requiring his assistance.

And every time Steve stopped to help, Tony would disappear. He'd poke his nose in buildings, disappear down alleyways... and it wouldn't be long before Sharon would have to leave the crowd that would form around Steve to chase after the rising voices that were coming from where Tony had trespassed.

Every time she returned with Tony in tow, Sharon would give Clint the same warning glance, silently threatening him not to cause her trouble, too, and every time she did, he'd struggle not to smile.

That she wanted to throttle them was obvious. Equally obvious was how heavily armed she was.

Clint had been traveling with Natasha long enough to recognize how concealed weapons could change a woman's gait and, as the pendant around her neck was clearly the trigger mechanism for a small crossbow, Clint had no doubt the other pieces of the weapon were also hidden on her person. The idea made Clint smile; perhaps in another life, the two of them could have been friends.

Clint leaned casually against the stone wall lining the road, drawing Sharon’s attention before she could notice that Tony had once again slipped away from the group. It wasn’t that he cared what Tony was up to – he truly didn’t – but Steve had stopped to help a mason make repairs and the frustration on Sharon’s face was a clear as day. She was close to losing her cool and Clint figured she was only a small push away from dropping the act altogether.

That was something he wanted to see firsthand.

“Drink?” he asked, offering his water skin.

Eyes lowered in suspicion, Sharon took the skin and leaned against the wall next to him, matching his posture so they could both watch Steve. She took a long pull without taking her eyes from Steve.

"Your boss must be some kind of champion," she said. "Phil, was it?"

"Yeah," Clint answered cautiously, surprised by the question.

"It's pretty obvious you and the wife are loyal to him," Sharon continued. "The way you look at him and pay attention to every word, every body cue... That's not usual for hired guards. No matter how good the money, it doesn't buy respect like that, so he must be something special."

Clint shifted uncomfortably against the wall. Sharon had apparently been watching them as closely as they had been watching her, perhaps even more closely. Maybe she'd already dropped the act...

Clint reached for his water skin, but Sharon took another pull and tucked it at her side away from him, as if she owned it.

"Funny thing is though," she continued, "the big guy over there barely seems to know you. He's polite and courteous to an absolute fault and he'd rather help strangers than pay attention to you. There's no way he's hired muscle and I don't think he answers to you or your boss."

Clint casually shifted against the wall, feeling the uncomfortable weight of her observations. The team had never been made this fast in all their years on the road. Clearly, Sharon wasn't just armed, she was smart – like Phil-level smart – and that made her dangerous. She probably hadn't even missed that Tony was gone again.

"Which brings me to your other friend," Sharon continued calmly. "He doesn't give a rat's ass about any of you. If he was getting paid, I'd expect him to have at least a basic level of professionalism, but he's been running all over this village. He's on a mission all his own, isn't he? Looking for something?"

"I don't know..." Clint started, buying time to think how to adapt the plan or if he should even bother maintaining his cover.

Sharon took another pull from the skin. "But the thing is, we're a long way from the trade routes and in case you hadn't noticed, this village has nothing. No money, no treasure... the fields barely keep us alive winter to winter. There's nothing here to steal."

"Look, Sharon, we're just passing through..."

"He's obviously looking for someone. What I can't figure out is where the rest of your fit in. Do you answer to him or do you just not care what he does?"

Sharon turned to face him and Clint couldn't help but hold her gaze. She was calling him out and he didn't see the point in playing a game any longer. Phil was not going to be pleased.

"I don't know what he's looking for, but Stark's not going to hurt anyone if that's what you're worried about. He's an inventor, not a..."

"Stark?" Sharon's eyes widened with alarm. "That's Anthony Stark?"

"Wasn't our idea, but..."

 _"Futuo..."_ Sharon cursed under her breath and walked quickly away, surprising Clint again. She turned down a narrow path between dwellings before he could even call out to her. Clint cast a glance to Steve - still winning hearts and minds - and decided to go after her. Something told him Stark was going to need the help...

Clint turned sideways to squeeze himself through the narrow way and rounded behind the dwelling, coming to a crossway of narrow paths. He had a clean line of sight past several more dwellings, but there was no sign of Sharon. Closing his eyes to listen, Clint picked up the sounds of voices rising to his right - Tony getting kicked out of some other building, no doubt. He turned to follow but was immediately surprised to feel the sharp point of a crossbow bolt against the back of his head. He'd never even heard her double back.

Damn, she was awesome. They should totally be friends. "Sharon?" Clint asked. "Listen..."

"Shut up and move."

"Ok, ok..." Clint stalled for a fraction of time, just enough to start wiggling Phil's knife loose from his leather arm guard. "There's no need for this to get ugly."

Sharon jammed the bolt against Clint's head and he felt the itchy warmth of blood start to drip down his neck. "Move! Or I will end you."

"Alright!" Clint answered. He allowed himself to be pushed through the doorway of the nearest dwelling.

"I need the room. Go get me Vellandua," Sharon announced and without a word of protest, the woman cooking inside stepped out. Once she was gone, Sharon shoved Clint towards a chair in the corner.

"Who are you, really?" she asked.

"The way these people answer to you... I think the more interesting question is 'who are you, Sharon?'"

Without even a look of warning, Sharon fired the crossbow, sending a bolt clean through Clint's side. He grabbed at the wound and doubled over, falling back into the chair. The pain was searing, but Clint milked it for more and used the opportunity to loose the knife from his arm guard. When he looked up again, she'd reloaded.

"I won't ask too many more times," she said. "Who are you?"

"Can't see how it matters; Stark's your problem, isn't he?"

"Not my problem, no," Sharon answered as an enormous shadow enveloped her. She turned to acknowledge the heavily muscled, tattooed man in the doorway – Vellandua, no doubt.

"Stark's here," Sharon said to him. "He's yours; I'll take the big guy."

"And him?" Vellandua asked, nodding towards Clint.

Sharon looked past Vellandua into the alley and nodded at whoever was there. "Have your men get what they can from him. I want to know more about his boss."

Nods of agreement were shared and two equally enormous men replaced Sharon and Vellandua in the doorway. The larger of the two looked at the blood under Clint's seat and smiled.

Clint smiled back – oh how he loved being underestimated by thugs. "Gentlemen..." he said, gripping the knife. “Where do you want to start?"

***

Tony moved quickly and quietly through the alleyways, poking his head through doors and windows as he went. The bastard had to be here somewhere; the omens were just too good.

The moment Coulson had left his barn at the villa, Tony had gone through the rituals again and every sign – the entrails, the fire, the distant lightening that night, and the star that had fallen – they were so obvious even a moron could have read them.

Finally, he was to have his revenge and Coulson would lead the way.

Tony smoothed his leather apron against his chest but snapped his fingers back at the heat there; he was getting too worked up. He stuck his fingertips in his mouth to cool them and closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing and the calming meditation Pepper had taught him. He just needed to keep control for a little while longer and then he'd be free of this nightmare.

Pepper would be free of it.

Tony opened his eyes and cautiously touched the apron again – it was much cooler this time. Good; he was controlling it. He nodded to himself and moved on to the next building. By his count, there were only a few buildings left to hide in. Tony was so close to finding the Briganten son of a bitch who'd tortured him, he could almost taste it.

This proved an apropos statement, as Tony rounded a corner and walked straight into the heavily muscled chest of Vellandua, the man himself.

"Been looking for you," Tony said to him with a wry smile.

"I heard you've been searching all the villages. What's wrong, Stark? Did you miss me?"

"No, no," Tony answered, taking a step back as he felt the heat build in his chest. "Just keeping a promise. Do you remember what I promised you?"

Vellandua laughed. "Yes, little man. I remember you promised to kill me, in between screams for your mother and the gods."

"Now see, you have a bad memory. It's probably the farm diet you live on. Too much grain will do that."

"I remember it well enough."

"No, see I never called for mom," Tony answered. "But you're right; I did call for the gods."

He reached up and undid the clasp on his vest, letting it fall away and reveal an impossible flame burning from within a hollow cavity in his chest. It was white-hot, but contained entirely within Tony's body, like a glowing star that neither consumed him nor burned out; an endless source of heat and power.

Tony smiled at the horror that suddenly appeared on Vellandua's face. "Vulcan sends his regards, you son of a bitch."

With a single thought, Tony cast the flame out from his chest with enough force to send Vellandua back and through a dwelling wall.

Seeing the bastard fly away was exhilarating, like finally being released from a tether. Tony even laughed as he crossed through the opening after Vellandua. "Now, let's see what else you remember about our last conversation."

***

With the last stone replaced, Steve stepped back to check the line of the repaired wall. It wasn't his best work, but it would serve its purpose, so he reached over to accept a drink from the mason's wife. It felt good to do some honest work; Steve figured he could get used to a life like this, far away from the constant fighting.

"You're not really Roman, are you dear?" the woman asked him.

"Yes, ma'am, I am."

"No, sweetheart," she answered, patting his arm. "You're too nice to be Roman."

Steve blushed both at the compliment and at the woman's embarrassing assessment of Romans. "Thank you, ma'am, but I can assure you that not all Romans are like the army."

"Of course not, dear. Most of them are worse, aren't they?" the woman answered, patting his arm again. "But I'll keep your secret. Finish up and come inside. I'll fix you something to eat."

Steve smiled a kind smile and reached down to collect his things. "Thank you, ma'am, but I think I need to find my friends."

"Oh, don't worry, son," the mason answered with a nod up the road. "It looks like Sharon's come back to get you."

Steve turned to look while slinging his pack over his shoulder. He had just enough time to register the crossbow in her arms and pull the shield back down before Sharon fired the first bolt.

The mason and other civilians scattered in panic, but Steve held his ground; he was too confused to move.

"Sharon, what has happened?" he asked. In answer, she loaded another bolt and fired. Steve deflected it without thought and stepped towards her, concern mounting.

"Sharon, are you alright? Where are Clint and Tony?"

Sharon fired a third bolt and leapt at Steve when he ducked. She brought the butt of her crossbow down hard on his shield, making it ring like a bell. He used it to shove her back, hard enough to create space between them, but not hard enough to make her fall.

Steve raised his palm to her, asking for calm, and she took the moment to reload and fire another bolt. When Sharon came at him this time, she feigned high, but then dropped and swept his legs out from under him.

Sharon got a knife to Steve's throat and nicked him before he could twist away. He shoved her back, this time hard enough that she rolled as she slid down the road. She recovered quickly, loaded and fired a bolt just he stood with raised shield.

"Sharon, please! I don't understand what has happened."

"I won't let you harm these people," she said.

"Harm them? I would never."

"Don't lie to me. You're here with Stark."

"I never lie, Sharon. I'm not here with Stark; he's here with us."

"What could possibly be the difference?"

"My response if he has harmed you in anyway."

Sharon didn't lower the crossbow an inch, but Steve saw her eyes twitch just slightly; she was unconvinced, but considering him.

"Do you know who he is, Steve? His history with the Brigantes?"

"I know that he was briefly their prisoner."

"Is that what he told you?" Sharon scoffed. "He probably didn't tell you what brought him into Briganten territory in the first place, though, did he?"

"It is not my business."

"But it is mine. Do you know how many Brigantes the army has killed? Thousands over the years - using Stark's weapons. Men, women, children... villages burned to the ground, fields destroyed and it still wasn't enough. When he was taken, Stark was traveling with the army to test weapons of even greater effect. The man profits by killing children more efficiently than others. Can there be a life more deserving of torture?"

"Everyone has a right to vengeance, but it sounds as if your quarrel is with the army, not with Stark and certainly not with me."

"My 'quarrel' is with anyone who threatens these people."

Steve lowered the shield and dropped his arms to his side; it was as relaxed and nonthreatening a posture as he could create. "What have I done to make you think I would harm these people?"

"You lied," Sharon answered firmly. "You are not a traveler and you are not just passing through. I've seen this act before and I'm not falling for it again."

"You mean Vitellius, don't you?" Clint asked from behind, forcing Sharon to spin to face him. When she did, he threw his knife hard enough to split the crossbow's line and embed in the unfired bolt. Without hesitating, Sharon dropped the crossbow and pulled a knife for each hand.

"Did you kill those men?" she asked Clint.

"No," he answered, raising a palm as Steve had done. "They're big but they aren't trained. They're not really fighters, are they?"

"Only when they have to be," Sharon answered. "They're good men trying to keep their families safe from people like Stark." Sharon looked quickly back and forth between Steve and Clint, like she was sizing up her options. "I don't need that crossbow to take you on," she said calmly.

"I have no doubt, but I'm hoping it won't come to that," Steve answered. "I'm sorry we misled you earlier, I was assured it was a safer tactic than announcing our intention."

"Which is?"

"To find out what happened to Vitellius and his team," Clint answered her.

"Who sent you?" she asked him.

"Sharon, I still don't know what's going on." Steve called out, but she didn't take her eyes from Clint.

 _"Who sent you?"_ Sharon reiterated.

"Senator Fury," Clint answered.

"Fury...?" Sharon hesitated and flicked her eyes to Steve. "Don't lie to me, big man. Did Fury really send you?"

"Not me - I joined this party along the way – but I trust these people have good intentions. If Clint says Senator Fury sent him, then I believe him."

"And I should just trust you?"

"I hope you will," Steve answered.

Clint took a cautious step towards Sharon. "Do you know Fury? Does he mean something to you?"

She turned and looked at Clint for a long moment, evaluating him. "A man can accomplish anything when he realizes he's a part of something bigger."

"A team of people that share that conviction can change the world," he replied with an unmasked look of shock on his face. It was Fury's recognition code phrase, one shared only among his top agents. "You're Shield..."

"As are you..." Sharon sheathed the knives and closed the distance between her and Clint. "I've been waiting a long time for back up.”

Clint held out his hand and they shook in the proscribed fashion. "How long have you been out here?"

"Years," Sharon answered quickly. "Why is Stark here? Who is he after?"

Screams from further in the village drew their attention. Smoke could be seen rising in a thick, dark plume.

"I don't know, but I'm guessing he found them."

"So help me, agent. If he has killed anyone..." Sharon shouted, running towards the fire.

"Then he'll answer for it," Steve answered, running past her.

***

Something wasn't right. Phil had pieced together enough of the files to tell that whoever Vitellius was reporting to, it wasn't Fury.

Those who reported directly to Fury knew to fill their reports with frank language and personal assessment. Fury trusted his agent’s instincts and didn't want formal language getting in the way. The reports Vitellius was writing, however, were overly formal and lacked any touch of the big personality Phil knew he had.

Phil could hardly imagine a scenario where it would be necessary to keep Fury in the dark; if Vitellius had been reporting to someone above Fury, then there was no way this was a routine mission.

Perhaps that explained the note Fury received; a fatalistic warning and the last act of a loyal agent.

What Phil couldn't explain, though, was how this 'Loki' person had gotten the upper hand on such a senior agent.

It was clear enough from the files that Vitellius had met with him and been shaken by the meeting. Whatever had happened there, it had left Vitellius urging his superior to avoid business in this area and, in fact, to never return. It was his one frank assessment. Or at least, as far as Phil could tell - Vitellius' files were a frustrating puzzle, full of partial phrases and tantalizing, loose words like 'Thor' and 'talisman.'

Phil rubbed at his eyes and got up to open the window. He let the cool breeze wash over him to help clear his mind.

'Talisman' reminded him; Clint had picked one out of the ashes, hadn't he?

Phil walked back to the bag of personal effects they'd collected at the scene and poured them out onto the table. Sifting through, Phil found the little talisman – a tiny bronze piece with an inlaid hammer symbol. It was charred, but recognizable and now that Phil thought about it, somewhat out of place. It wasn't Roman in design and would have been unusual for Vitellius to carry.

A stiff breeze started to blow the file scraps around and Phil pocketed the talisman before reaching for the floating pieces. As he set them back in place, he recognized the heavy smell of smoke on the breeze. Loud voices and the rush of commotion carried up soon afterward and Phil moved to the window to see.

A building was on fire up the way and villagers were rushing towards it. Phil felt no urge to do the same – he was not there to draw attention to himself.

But then he saw a bloody Clint sprinting across rooftops towards the engulfed building and, just as he reached it, Tony Stark fly through the air past him, propelled by an arc of flame.

So much for not drawing attention.

Sword in hand, Phil hit the street within seconds.

***

Steve got to the building first and jumped through the doorway, needing to be sure no one was trapped inside. He found an unconscious man on the floor and started to pull him to safety, but flames shot from the corner of the room and forced him back against the wall. Steve got an arm up to shield his face, dropped to his knees, and then again reached out for the man. This time, a hand swatted him away and Steve recognized Stark standing over the man's body.

"You're on fire!" Steve shouted to him, seeing the flames at his chest, but Stark ignored him and grabbed at the unconscious man. He lifted him roughly and tossed him out of the doorway into the street.

"He's mine!" Tony shouted.

"But you're on fire!" Steve shouted back. He rushed to his feet and dove for Stark, tackling him and sending him to the ground. He grabbed at Tony and held his chest against the dirt road, trying to put out the flames. "Hold still, I've got you!"

"Get off me, you idiot!" Tony shouted back.

"But you're on fire!"

"I know!"

Stark's body shuddered once and fire boiled out from beneath his chest. The force of it lifted him off the ground, knocking Steve back and sending Stark up into the air. When he came to rest on a rooftop, Steve watched the flame die back down and contain itself entirely within Stark's chest.

Clint skidded to a halt on the rooftop next to him and stared at Stark with the same shocked look Steve was sure he was making, too.

"What the gods is that?" Clint called out.

"A long story. One that's finally coming to an end," Stark answered. He jumped down and went back to the unconscious man. Yanking the man's head off the ground, Stark pulled a knife.

"No!" Sharon shouted as she rounded the corner. She threw a knife at Stark, but the shout had obviously been enough warning. He turned his chest towards her and cast out another arc of flame. It knocked the knife away and continued on to Sharon, engulfing her and forcing her to drop to the ground.

"He's mine!" Tony shouted at her.

"Over my dead body," Sharon called back. She pulled another knife and started to run towards him, but Stark shot more flame towards her and forced her back behind a building.

Steve pulled his sword and advanced on Stark, using his shield to protect him from the flames Stark shot at him. "Enough, Stark!"

"Please," Stark called to him. "You of all people know it is my right."

"What right have you to kill this man?"

"The right of vengeance," he answered. "This is the man who tortured me. He tried to take my life so I have every right to take his."

"And you're certain it is this man?"

"Like I could ever forget."

"And what of his right to defend himself?" Sharon asked harshly as she came back onto the street.

" _Defend_ himself? He ambushed me!"

"You were selling weapons designed to kill him and his family!"

"I was supplying soldiers with what they needed to fight scum like him!" Tony shouted, pointing an emphatic finger at the unconscious man. "Don't sell me a sob story about him being an innocent man, sister. How many villages has he raided? How many soldiers has he killed?"

Sharon advanced on him and Stark strode to meet her. She looked as determined as him and Steve wasn't sure he could break up their fight if it came to blows.

"You were a threat to his family; would you have done any different?"

"I woke up bleeding in a cave with this monster standing over me. He wanted me to build him weapons and when I refused, he showed me just how 'inefficient' his weapons were. He made me want to build more efficient ways to die, so yeah... I would have done different. Any civilized person would have done different!"

"Then you are within the Law to take his life," Steve said quietly, sheathing his sword. "We won't interfere."

"Damned if we won't!" Sharon shouted.

"The Law grants every man the right to justice," Steve answered. "We have no right to interfere."

"It's our _mission_ to interfere." Sharon lunged at Stark just as the flames started to build again. Before she could land the blow or he fire, Clint planted an arrow through Stark's shoulder, spinning him away and sending the flames into the sky.

"Fire again or touch that man, Stark, and I will put the next one through your skull," Clint said calmly from behind a drawn bow. "Can you shoot fire from there, too?"

"It is my _right!_ " Stark shouted. He grabbed at the arrow and looked up with an expression of absolute betrayal. "I thought you were a man of honor, Barton."

"I am, but this isn't what Shield does."

"You don't hunt down criminals?" Tony asked him.

"We don't execute," Clint answered.

"He needs to die," Tony said after a moment, almost pleading with Clint.

"It's not that simple, Tony," Phil said as he emerged from the crowd that had formed around them.

"Of course it is, Coulson. It's exactly that simple."

"And what happens to these people when he's dead?" Phil asked with a calm, mesmerizing voice that seemed to make Stark hesitate.

"What does that matter?"

"It matters to them, it matters to me," Coulson answered. "Look at them, Tony."

"I don't need to."

"Yes you do," Coulson said, taking a step towards him. "You said these people would want to kill us. 'Every man, woman and child,' isn't that what you said?"

"So?"

"So, why aren't they attacking us? Why aren't they trying to stop you?"

Tony's eyes flicked to the crowd, seeming to register the faces there for the first time. "Maybe they want him dead for the same reasons I do."

"I doubt that. They need him, but they fear him and no one is sure if they should stop you or not." Phil turned his eyes to Sharon. "Why is that?"

"It's complicated," Sharon answered, uncomfortably.

Phil nodded and walked over to the unconscious man. He picked up the necklace from around the man's neck, dusted it off, and seemed to recognize the symbol carved into the pendant. "Does it have something to do with Loki?"

"Don't say his name!" Sharon shouted, eyes suddenly wide.

"Why not? What is...?" Phil started, but Sharon was already ignoring him and turning to the crowd.

"Get the children to the tunnels!" she shouted before turning to the men who were still trying to put out the burning dwelling. "Leave the fire! Get your weapons and head to the fences!"

The crowd panicked and scattered at her instructions. Steve swirled in place, watching as villagers ran into and then back out of their dwellings, having grabbed pitchforks, axes, hammers – the small arms of peasants.

Sharon had moved to the main road and was directing villagers as they passed, organizing them according to the weapons they carried. Steve ran to her and pulled his sword.

"What's happening, Sharon?"

"The giants are coming and we may be on our own this time," she answered, turning away to look across the moor. "I told him to stay away..."

"Told who?"

Sharon's eyes snapped back to Steve then moved past him to where Phil, Clint, and Stark were standing bewildered and motionless. "This is all your fault and you damn well better make up for it."

"What did I do?" Phil asked.

"You summoned a god."

***

The Doc's little books were... detailed to say the least, but Nat had skimmed most of them by midday. He was right; there was too much for her to memorize, but she was certainly getting the gist.

The Doc had originally come to the area to lay low, but when the giants threatened the village, the other guy stopped them and then kept stopping them every time they returned.

They came through portals opened by some pagan god named Loki. These portals were invisible to human eyes, but the Doc found the signs that gave them away: storm clouds and lightening, then birds falling dead from the sky. The closer one got to the portal, the more signs of death there were, as if the air itself become poisonous.

When the Doc realized Loki was never going to stop, he started studying the portals more closely and found a way to close them – a rare ore placed in just the right spot...

But of course, there was a catch – any villager who touched the ore died within days. The other guy seemed the only one strong enough to handle it, but each time he did, he grew more difficult for the Doc to control, as if the exposure was fueling the monster's growth. The Doc was afraid he was becoming more threat than savior.

He wanted to leave, but without him, the villagers would surely die.

Nat set down her book and swallowed the last of her tea. She just didn't know what to make of the Doc. On the one hand (and assuming the stuff in his books wasn't complete horse shit), he was smart and strong – an obvious ally against the giants. But on the other hand, he was sad, arrogant, and self-righteous, holding himself personally responsible for protecting people from the gods.

In Nat's experience, people like that either died heroes or died alone, but they always died young and needlessly. No matter how big the other guy's frame, it was too small to hold the weight of the world. 

Nat got up and walked to the tiny bedroom. Unlike the rest of the home, the room was dark and Spartan with just the bed and a small table. It was obviously a purely functional space for him, which Nat figured was a pity and even more evidence of the martyr complex the Doc obviously had. If he really was the town savior, there was probably any number of young women who would willingly come back to this room with him.

"What's the point of saving the world if you're gonna shun it, Doc. Live a little, huh?" she said just audibly.

"Hmm..?" he slurred in response.

"Didn't think you were awake, Doc... Feeling any better?"

"Wha?... no..."

Nat smiled at the honest response. She'd wondered if he would try impressing her with a tough guy routine and telling her it had been no big deal; most men did.

"Sorry about the fight, Doc," she told him. "If it makes you feel any better, I think you broke a rib or two."

"Why would that make me feel better?" Doc slurred through still-closed eyes.

Nat snorted. "I meant mine, not yours."

"I know what you meant. Are you ok?"

"Relax, Doc. It’s neither the first nor the last time I'll break a rib. Are you hungry?"

"No," he answered weakly.

Nat could see he was still fighting consciousness. He looked slightly green, too, but after he curled to his side and pulled the blanket tight, she figured it didn't have anything to do with the other guy.

"Alright, well you need to eat anyway. Try to get yourself up and I'll fix something simple."

"Can I just… stay here and not move? How many of those things did you stick me with?"

"All of them."

Doc opened his eyes at that. "All of them?"

Nat shrugged. "What can I say? The other guy didn't seem to want tea."

Doc closed his eyes again and buried his face deeper into the pillow. "Getting too strong..." Nat heard him mumble to himself.

"Yeah, well... we had a nice chat about that."

Doc slowly opened his eyes again and watched her for a moment. "Thank you for stopping me and... and for staying with me."

"Which is it, Doc. Did I stop you or did I stay with you?"

"What do you mean?"

Nat knelt down and made sure his eyes were on hers. "I stopped the other guy, not you. You I clothed and put in this bed."

"We're the same thing," Doc answered, weakly shaking his head.

"Are you sure about that, Doc?"

"Pretty sure, yeah."

"Hmmm..." Nat answered. She got up and started to walk away.

"You don't sound like you believe me."

"I think you believe you."

"That doesn't make... what?"

Nat came back to the bed and sat down. "Once you believe you're the monster, then there's no point in proving otherwise, is there?"

"Alright, I'm sorry I asked. Let's not do this now..." he said turning away from her.

"Well, you started it and I think I'll take advantage of the drugs in your system," Nat continued. "Look, Doc, I'm not trying to upset you, but I think this is important. I've been reading your little books and the one thing that stands out is that you used to write about the other guy, but by the end, you were writing as if he were you – as if you were the one who needed to be stopped."

"I am."

"You need some help; I'll give you that, but no, Doc. You don't need to be stopped – you need to remember who you are."

"I know what I am," he answered sourly.

"No, you know what you become and you live your life in absolute fear of that. I know you worry about controlling him, but Doc... he's controlling you. You need to worry about that."

"You have no idea what you're talking about..."

"You'd be surprised, Doc. But, look, I don't want to press you too far right now – you look like you're going to throw up all over me. I just want you to think about it, alright? I've only know you for a few hours and I already know there's more to you than a big green brute. I'm curious to see if you know that, too." Nat leaned over and handed him the mug of tea. "Here, drink this and see if you can get yourself moving."

Nat left him and went outside to check the weir, figuring some more fish and oatcakes might do him some good. She was just starting to collect her fish when a crack of lightning pulled her attention back across the moor. Storm clouds were building rapidly near the village.

If Nat hadn't just been reading the Doc's books, she would have dismissed it, but now she couldn't. It was too great a distance for her to see anything of significance, but she was pretty sure of what was happening over there.

Some timing. The last thing she wanted was the Doc hulking out again. Maybe she could spare him and handle it herself.

"Doc?" Nat called out as she ran back to the house. "Just out of curiosity, where'd you bury that ore?"

"What?"

"The ore you wrote about in your books, where did you bury it?"

"No, no no..." he answered as he fell loudly out of the bed.

"Did you set a marker or something?"

"You can't touch it; you'll die." Doc half-dragged, half-pulled himself into the doorway looking so poorly that Nat couldn't figure how he'd even managed that. "You're not strong enough."

"If I had a coin for every time I heard that, Doc... Look, I just have to... go take care of something. You just stay here and rest, every thing's fine."

"You're a terrible liar."

'I'm not lying,' Nat thought to herself, but arguing with the Doc was only going to waste time, so Nat walked back into the yard and started looking for where he'd buried the ore. It had to be close by – somewhere he could watch from the house. Spinning in a quick circle, Nat spotted an out of place rock and quickly unearthed the lead box hidden underneath.

"No... please, don't." Doc had gotten himself to the doorway and though he was holding on for balance, he already seemed stronger and larger. He stumbled out towards her as quickly as his shuffling feet seemed able. He saw the clouds on the horizon and looked back to her. "Give it to me, I'll do it."

"Doc, you're in no shape. I've got this."

"You'll die," he answered with a fierceness that stilled her. "There's a reason I give him control... Give me the box; I'll close the portal, you protect the village."

Doc took the box from her hands and clutched it as he dropped to the ground and started to change. "Go!" he shouted and Nat knew better than to wait around.

She took off running towards the village but dropped and hid herself in the brush a hundred feet later. From her concealed spot, Nat watched the Doc change and then followed him as he stumbled towards the portal.

Nat knew Clint and Coulson would take care of the village; it was the Doc who was going to need backup.

***

"She's with Fury?" Phil repeated quietly as he finished stitching the wound in Clint's side.

"Apparently. Why wouldn't he tell us?"

"I have no idea, but Fury was being kept in the dark about something up here. Maybe he wanted our eyes to be fresh."

"Well, that's stupid," Clint answered. He swatted Phil's hand away, refit his tunic and cast a glance back across the fields towards the storm. "She's a top tier agent and she's been waiting years for backup. Is he going to do the same to us? Just leave us hanging someday or send someone undercover to sniff us out?"

"Part of being an elite agent is you're sometimes on your own. You know that, Clint."

"Still, giants? Gods? Sharon needed a team."

"She's got one now."

"You know Phil," Clint said, looking down the fence line at to where Sharon was issuing last minute commands to the villagers. "It's one thing to fight giants with you and Nat, but it’s another thing entirely to fight with civilians and... whatever Stark is now. There are too many things we can't control; someone's going to get killed."

"You're starting to sound like me."

"Yeah, I should probably stop listening to you."

"You've been listening to me?" Phil asked dryly, earning him a smirk after a moment. "They're just giants, Clint. We'll take care of them and then get out of here."

"You're really going to quote that back to me?"

"I guess I better stop listening to you, too." They shared a smile and then Phil's eyes were drawn over Clint's shoulder to where Tony had just approached Sharon. He was clad head to toe in custom armor. The chest piece had a clear panel which showed the flames still burning brightly there. Thin pipes snaked away from it, coiling down his legs and also out around his arms, where they connected to his boots and gauntlets, respectively.

"What in Tartarus is he wearing?" Clint asked.

"I'm going to guess that's the equipment he wanted to test," Phil answered. "Are you ready for this?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, find a good perch and do what you do; I'll coordinate with Sharon and keep an eye on our metal man over there."

"Ten denarii he blows himself up."

"I'm not taking that bet," Phil answered, earning him a snort. "Be safe."

"I love you, too, Phil."

Clint took off and Phil started walking towards Tony and Sharon. He had to step over another pair of dead birds as he did – there really were an unusual number of them on this side of the village – and then around a cluster of villagers. One of them tapped him on the shoulder as he passed.

"You're new," the man said with a curious smile. He was whip-thin and had long dark hair that matched the color of his eyes. He seemed instantly out of place to Phil, betraying not even a hint of nervousness. More concerning, though, was that unlike the other villagers who carried mostly tools as weapons, this man carried an ornate scepter. "Would you like to play a game?"

"I've learned better than to play games with gods," Phil answered. "Loki, I presume?"

The man's lips reared back in a pleased, snake-like smile. "Oh, I like you, human; so much quicker than these other sheep. Like these fellows here, for instance."

The villagers who had been standing with Loki turned in unison and faced Phil with emotionless expressions and eyes that glowed with a faint blue light.

"What have you done to them?" Phil asked.

"Brought them under my sway. They will make excellent, distracting fodder, but you... someone like you I think I'll use in other ways."

"Step back, Phil!" Sharon shouted at him, but before he could move, Loki tapped the scepter's point against Phil's chest.

"Come with me, sheep," Loki said to him, but Phil just scowled back.

"I'd rather not," Phil said as he took the scepter and pushed Loki away hard enough to make him stumble back against the fence. The light died instantly from the villagers eyes and they collapsed in a heap.

Loki looked from them back to Phil and from the shocked look on his face, Phil could only imagine he was used to a greater level of fear and obedience from humans. Loki stood slowly, his eyes now squinting as if studying Phil anew.

"You already bear the mark of a god. Fascinating." Then Loki snapped a quick hand up and, without taking his eyes from Phil's, caught in midair the crossbow bolt Sharon had fired at him. "I doubt your friends have that same protection, though."

Loki snapped his wrist and the bolt flew back. It struck Sharon and embedded deeply in her arm with all the force as if it had been fired from the crossbow. She dropped to the ground but didn't cry out. Instead, she quickly tried to reload her weapon. 

Stark was able to react first. He held up a gauntlet and fire shot out of the tube linked there. Loki was instantly engulfed and struggled to put out the flames. He turned another shocked look to Phil.

"That was Helfire! Who are you people?"

"Vitellius sends his regards," Phil answered.

"Well... then so do my jötnar."

With lightening quickness, Loki grabbed his scepter form Phil's hands and disappeared. A moment later, dozens of lightning bolts appeared and an entire flock of birds fell dead from the sky.

"There, Phil!" Clint called down to him from a rooftop, but Phil didn't need to look to guess he was pointing across the field. Enormous shapes had appeared at the far end and Phil knew the giants were coming.

Phil looked back down the fence line and watched panic ripple through the villagers. There was no way they were going to be an effective fighting force and they would never be able to hold this line if they waited for the giants to near.

"Merciful Jupiter," Phil muttered under his breath as he swallowed his own panic. They were going to need to take the fight to the giants if they were to survive.

Phil walked quickly and purposely towards Tony and Sharon, who was now standing and fiercely ignoring the blood pouring from her arm. Steve and Clint quickly joined them.

"How did you do that?" Sharon asked as soon as he was within earshot.

"What?"

"Break his thrall."

"I have no idea," Phil answered. "But that and Tony's fire seemed to change his plans."

"Speaking of which, we need to change ours," Clint added.

"Agreed," Phil said, nodding. "Tony, Steve, you lead the way. Clint, you're going to need those javelins."

"And I'll lead the villagers," Sharon added.

Phil scowled at her. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"They've been at this a long time; they can fight."

"That's not what I meant. Your arm..."

"I have two and I wasn't asking permission," Sharon answered.

"Alright," Phil said. If Sharon was Fury's elite, he wasn't about to underestimate her ability. Or piss her off. "How many of the villagers can actually fight?"

"Maybe a dozen, but as I said, this isn't our first fight. There are traps in the field, so maybe instead of just taking charge and calling shots, you should talk with me first."

Clint let out a belly laugh. "Nat's going to _love_ you!"

They were both absolutely correct and Phil wanted to kick himself for doing what he'd just told himself he wouldn't do. "How do we proceed?" he asked her simply.

"How quickly can you move in that thing?" Sharon asked Tony.

"Faster than any of you."

"Good," she answered. "Get out in front and draw as much of their attention as you can. Steve can take advantage and hit them low. Arrows are only going to piss them off; though. You said you have javelins?" she asked Clint.

"I do, but trust me; my arrows can do more than just piss them off."

"Fine. Hit them at distance and do what you can, but when they get closer, we'll use your fire to draw their attention and lure them towards the traps. I'll coordinate the villagers there."

"And what about me?" Phil asked.

Sharon held a steady look, sizing him up with a grave seriousness. "I need you at the tunnels. If they get past us or if Loki returns, I need someone protecting the children."

"This isn't Phil's first fight, either," Clint said just a little hotly. "He can hold his own."

Phil was touched by the defense, but gave him a reassuring look. "She's not saying I'm old, Clint. If I can't be thralled, then I can be trusted with the villagers. Isn't that right, Sharon?"

She nodded in response. "It's his most potent weapon. He's turned all of us at one point or another."

"I'll keep them safe; do the same for my team."

Sharon nodded and they shook hands before she assigned a man to guide Phil back through the village. Phil made a point of not looking back at Clint; making it clear Clint was to take his lead from Sharon, at least for the next little while. It was the second time in his life he'd put so much trust in Fury and Phil said a quick prayer that he wouldn't regret it.

Moments later when he dropped into the tunnel, though, he realized that prayer was not going to be enough. Through the dim light, he could see dozens of small eyes looking back at him, all glowing with a faint blue light.

Phil slowly started to back away; he didn't know what he could or would do with so many innocent children under a thrall. Maybe if he got back outside and found Loki, he could get the scepter again and release them.

"Oh, I won't make that mistake again, human," Loki's calm, menacing voice floated back at him from the darkness. "You won't get close enough to me this time."

"Let them go. They're innocent."

"I've found that innocence depends entirely on perspective."

"They're just children," Phil answered through clenched teeth.

"I was a child once, but I'm not sure my father would say I was ever 'innocent.' And neither will it be said of these children." The scepter glowed more brightly in Loki's hand and Phil could just make out his widening smile. "Kill him, my sheep."

The children moved in unison towards Phil and the horror of the moment overwhelmed him. Some had small knives, some had rocks, others just their fists, but all had the emotionless expression of obedience. Phil knew they would kill him if he let them, but he also knew he would die before he'd draw his sword on children.

Phil backed away quickly, but some of the children had already been positioned behind him. Tiny hands grabbed at him, pulling at his hands and legs. He slapped them away but then a rock was thrown from the back of the tunnel and it struck him in the head.

Phil shook off the sudden dizziness and pushed back against the children, trying to create space. They grabbed at his sword, but he slammed a hand down, keeping it sheathed. When he did, another rock struck his head and Phil's strength inexplicably gave out. He dropped to a knee. A small hand reached around his throat and started to squeeze.

"No," Phil strangled out. "Don't do this to them. Leave them be."

The hand stopped squeezing and the children suddenly stepped back as one.

"Do this to them?" Loki asked. "Did I hear you correctly, human?"

"Do whatever you want to me, but leave them alone. They don't deserve this."

The children parted wordlessly and Loki walked towards him with a curious expression. Phil stood to meet him.

"I've given them the opportunity to serve their god and yet, you don't think these children are deserving of my favor?"

"Leave them alone," Phil said.

"Or you'll do what exactly?"

The emptiness of Phil's threat hung in the air for a moment until Phil looked away.

"Exactly. But I'm not a monster, human." Loki snapped his fingers and the children moved away. As they walked, he reached out with both arms and shooed them along with soothing sounds, like a shepherd moving a herd. "Thank you for playing my little game, children. Sleep now; your parents will be along soon."

He waited until the children settled and then returned to Phil. "Maybe they'll be along..." Loki said with a mischievous smile.

Phil lashed out to punch him, but Loki dodged it as if Phil had moved in slow motion. Phil punched again and again, then kicked and tried to grapple, but Loki dodged him each time with supernatural speed.

Then Loki struck him with the scepter faster than Phil could see it move. Phil dropped to the ground, focusing all of his strength on maintaining consciousness.

Loki lifted Phil's head just enough to bring his lips to Phil's ear. "We have a lot to talk about, human. I'd appreciate it if you behaved while we did so." Loki tilted Phil's head just enough so Phil was looking down the tunnel. "If not for your sake then for the children's."

Phil gave up any pretense of fighting in that moment. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Let's start with the god's mark you bear..."

***

Clint watched Phil go and took the hint. "Where do you want me?" he asked Sharon.

"There is a safe path up the side of the field. Take that as far as you can and launch your attack. When the giants are close enough, look for my signal and then cut across the field. The traps are all marked with large flagstones; lead them to those." Sharon then turned to Stark. "Screw this up and I'll kill you myself."

"You are just a delight," he answered with a smile. He took a few steps into the field and then winked at her as the fire in his chest suddenly built. A second later, fire shot out of the tubes connected to his boots and Stark flew into the air. Angling his body, Stark then flew across the field and towards the giants.

"I'll be damned," Clint muttered.

"No, but I think he was," Steve answered.

They exchanged nods and took off, heading up different safe paths Sharon had shown them in the fields. While Steve charged straight for the giants, Clint made his way to the far side, hoping to take advantage of Stark's distraction.

At least a dozen giants had appeared while the team had been talking and if Clint wasn't mistaken, that number was growing.

Stark hit them first, blasting fire at the lead giants and then ducking away from their grasping hands. Steve moved in quickly. He sliced the Achilles tendon of the lead giant as it reached for Stark and the brute fell with an incredible thud.

Clint's experience with giants was limited, but he knew them to be dumb, lumbering brutes. He expected the remaining giants would neither notice nor care that their friend had fallen, but simply run on while Steve finished up. Instead, the giants turned as one to protect the one who'd fallen.

In an instant, Steve had to change from offense to defense. He scrambled back from the injured giant and narrowly evaded an enormous hand. He swung his sword and sliced the grasping hand, but he was bowled over and kicked by the charging giant.

Stark flew back and laid down cover fire while Steve skidded back through the dirt. The two closest giants reared back and covered their eyes, but a third giant was charging from Stark's flank.

Clint quickly snapped together and locked one of the javelins. Hurled with all his might, it crashed through the charging giant, killing it just before it could grab Stark.

Instantly, the giants turned as one; the javelin suddenly making them aware of Clint's presence and threat. They charged as a pack, spreading out so some charged directly while others moved to flank him.

"Merda merda merda..."

Clint unlocked several javelins and launched them in quick succession. They rained down on the charging giants like hail, injuring four before Stark flew in and set two more alight. The giants were racing towards them with too great speed, though, so Clint dropped the remaining javelins, grabbed his bow and charged them.

Firing as rapidly as he could, Clint peppered the oncoming giants with arrows. It didn't inflict the kind of damage Clint had hoped for, but it kept the giants focused on him long enough for Steve to attack from behind.

As he had with the first giant, Steve sliced through its Achilles and then scrambled up the body as it fell. He dispatched it with a quick swipe and then leapt onto the back of another giant. Stark swooped in while Steve was grappling and laid down enough cover fire for Clint to evade an attack and weave away between enormous limbs and escape out into the field. 

Clint looked up for Sharon and started running towards her, hoping to lure some of the giants to the traps even though he wasn't sure it would work. He couldn't believe how quickly the team had been overrun. Giants were supposed to be stupid, solitary creatures, not pack hunters. Would any but the first fall for the ruse?

"Stark!" Clint shouted as he ran. "Piss them off! Make them chase us."

He wasn't sure if Stark had actually heard him or not, but Stark was doing the job anyway. He swooped in and out between the giants, casting fire everywhere. After a moment, he shot out and away, laying down a fiery path and drawing the giants’ attention straight to Clint.

The largest giant watched Clint run and let out a roar so deep it rumbled the ground. Without looking to the rest of the pack, it took off after him in a dead sprint and Clint suddenly knew exactly what Phil must have experienced all those years ago.

The giant was a force of nature no javelin or arrow would stop and since there was no way Clint would be able to outrun it, he had to have blind faith the traps would work.

But then a sickening spike of adrenaline struck Clint as he realized suddenly he didn't know how the traps worked. He'd never even thought to ask – were they pits he'd need to leap over? Or ambush positions he'd need to evade?

He cast a quick glance over his shoulder to see the giant barreling down on him. When he turned back, Sharon and the villagers were gone.

"Son of a..." Clint muttered before forcing himself to calm. He scanned the field while he ran, trusting his hawk like eyes to tell him everything he needed to know...

The grain was uneven in patches, as if the villagers had ducked to conceal themselves. In front of them, Clint could just make out a regular pattern of disturbance in the grain and he suddenly realized what he was looking at.

He turned slightly and bee-lined straight for the disturbance. Then, as he was just reaching it, he dove to his left and rolled away.

"Now!" he shouted at the same moment Sharon did. A team of villagers suddenly stood up from the grain and heaved on ropes that pulled up a group of timber-cut spikes. The giant, unable to control its momentum, crashed heavily into the spikes. The timbers snapped under the weight, but the damage was done. One more down.

"Woot!" Clint cheered as he stood back up. "That's what I'm talking about!"

The anxious looks of the villagers crushed his moment, though. They were looking between themselves and back to Sharon with expressions so confused, Clint knew instantly the plan was dead. He turned around and saw that none of the remaining giants had chased him towards the traps – they'd watched instead and allowed the one who had to expose the danger. The spiked giant had been fodder and now that the others were wise to the danger, they were avoiding the field and instead rushing down the safe path Clint had used.

Steve and Stark were giving chase and likely didn't notice that four more giants had arrived in the time they'd been fighting. Clint looked from them to Sharon as she ran up to him.

"Loki controls them," she said to him. “And he learns from our mistakes.”

"Thralled giants? Damn. We're going to need another plan."

"Plan hasn't changed," Sharon answered. "You hit the giants just entering the field and lure what ones you can into the traps. They haven't seen them yet. Maybe you'll get lucky."

"And you?"

She drew her sword and started to run past him towards where the giants would enter the village. "I'm going to protect the village."

***

Nat didn't bother trying to conceal herself as she chased the other guy; he was moving so quickly, she'd never be able to keep him in sight if she did. But even still and running as fast as she could, the monster gained almost a mile on her before he reached the fields outside the village.

Even from distance, Nat heard the crash when the hulk slammed into a giant at the far end of the field. The sound was unlike anything she'd ever heard – two beasts roaring and grappling in a primal battle for life and death.

The hulk ripped the giant open just as Nat reached the field. She was no stranger to blood or violence, but savagery of that kind stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Ok Doc... I get why you keep to yourself."

Almost as if he'd heard her, the hulk roared across the field, drawing as much of the giants' attention as he could. The three giants closest to him turned as one and attacked.

They swarmed him, grabbing and biting while the hulk roared and thrashed. The hulk managed to toss one from his shoulder, but the other two dragged him to the ground and ripped into him with teeth and claws.

"Get off him!" Nat shouted. She charged their position and threw Stark's little bombs at the giants. They reared back at the flames which gave the hulk just the advantage he needed. Bleeding and carrying a badly injured arm, the hulk pulled himself up and rushed the giants. He snapped the neck of one and launched its body into a second. The third giant jumped him from behind and bit down on the hulk's shoulder, but the hulk threw himself backwards and landed with his full weight on the attacking giant's body, crushing it beneath him.

The hulk stood and roared in victory. He cast a look back at Nat and actually seemed to smile at her before he was slammed to the ground by another giant.

Five more giants had entered field from out of nowhere and Nat suddenly remembered the portal; it had to be open and it had to be nearby. The hulk was clearly able to hold his own in a fight, but he couldn't last forever. The portal had to be closed before more giants could step through.

Nat threw a handful of her bombs in a mad flurry to give the hulk as much of a chance as she could. Then, she ran for where the hulk had dropped the lead box. Weaving in and out of giant limbs, she grabbed it and ran off.

"No!" the hulk shouted with a roar that rattled in Nat's chest. She turned back and saw the hulk charging towards her just as he had outside the Doc's house. Pulling another bomb, Nat spun around and prepared to fight him.

One of the giants dragged him down from behind and the hulk hit the earth hard enough for Nat to feel the blow. The hulk's eye's never left hers, though. 

"No," he said, pleading with her and Nat suddenly realized the hulk was trying to protect her from the ore like the Doc had been.

"That's touching, big man, but let someone help you for once," she said before turning and running off.

She didn't see the hail of javelin rain down and tear into the giants… and into the hulk.

***

Six giants reached the village before Sharon could clear the fence line. Hurdling it, she sprinted for the closet one and threw a knife that embedded in the giant's skull. It got his attention.

With an outraged roar, the giant wheeled on her and attacked. Sharon dodged his fist and rolled to her right, feigning fear while tightening the grip on her sword. This wasn't her first fight by a long shot and she knew how to bring the brute down; when he lifted his leg to stomp on her, she would roll underneath and then slice through his Achilles and hamstring. Once down, Sharon would go for his throat.

The giant lifted his leg and Sharon readied herself to roll, but Stark attacked before it could move further.

"What kind of giant picks on someone an eighth of its size?" he asked as he hovered over the flailing brute.

Before she could react, Steve leaped from a nearby roof and slashed through the giant's leg, causing it to fall next to Sharon. She scrambled to her feet and finished the brute before wheeling back on Steve.

That had been quick – real quick – and Sharon suddenly realized she'd been fighting on her own for so long she'd forgotten how easily things could be handled with a capable team. She looked at the other five giants stomping their way through village and changed her plans immediately.

"Stark! Use your fire to herd them that way."

"Don't remember asking you for orders," he answered as he started to fly away.

Sharon picked up a rock and threw it at him; it bounced off and he flew back to her, fire blazing in his chest.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded.

"I have an idea."

"So do I and you're wasting my time."

"Stark, I get it," Sharon said. "You're used to working on your own, so am I. But they're acting like a pack, so I think we should, too." She pointed to the giant at her feet. "We're better together."

Stark hovered, considering her, but a roar from the center of the village grabbed their attention; it was enough for Steve to make a decision. He ran off towards the giants, shouting for their attention.

"Help him, Stark, please. Get them running in this direction."

Tony still didn't look sure and considering how they'd left things in the village square, she couldn't blame him. "Trust me this once," she asked simply.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he said kicking off and flying towards the giants.

"I do," she answered.

Sharon had started digging tunnels under the village after her first battle with the giants, but the attempts hadn't all been successful. The first several had collapsed before the villagers had worked out a good way to stabilize them.

One early tunnel was still in place though. It was stable enough for people to walk over, but she'd never trusted it would hold the weight of rampaging giants. Sharon had closed it off to be used for storage but not shelter. Now, it could be a trap.

Bee lining for the village center, Sharon found the closest of the giants.

"Come here, you bastard! Try to catch something you can eat!" Sharon taunted. When it didn't immediately chase her, though, she threw a knife at it.

The giant roared in pain and reached for her but she evaded and slashed its leg with her sword.

"Come on!" Sharon shouted before she took off running towards the tunnel. The giant pounded after her in pursuit, careening wildly between dwellings as he went.

Off to her right, Sharon could hear Steve and Tony shouting to each other and the roar of the other giants as they crashed their way through the streets in the same direction. It would be a miracle if they all hit the tunnel at the same time and Sharon thought briefly of slowing down to give that a better chance, but a single look back at the charging giant changed her mind; it was too close and she barely evaded his hand when it lunged for her.

But panic didn't set in until Sharon hit the tunnel location and the giant stopped chasing.

It pulled up short just before the tunnel line and stood staring at her, thinking.

"No, no, no, you bastard," Sharon muttered to herself. "Don't think. Chase me!"

The giant looked from her and back to the other giants who were rushing towards them. The giant caught the eye of the next one closest and it seemed to get the idea. It pulled up and stopped just short of the tunnel line.

The other three kept running though. They hit the tunnel and their weight caused it to cave in.

Steve leaped in after them, making sure none of the giants got back up. Tony dropped heavily to the ground next to Sharon. Together they stared at the two remaining giants.

"Well, that was my idea," Sharon said to him.

"Have to admit I liked it," Tony answered with a smile that couldn't help but make Sharon smile back. Tony Stark of all people defending a Briganten village... if that didn't beat everything Sharon had ever seen.

_When a man realizes he's a part of something bigger..._

"You crafty son of a bitch," Sharon muttered to herself of Fury, remembering his words and finally understanding why Stark was there.

And that Stark's tentative trust in her was going to have to be returned. Tentatively.

"You said you had a plan?" Sharon asked him. "Care to use it on these two?"

"Oh, is it my turn now?" Tony answered, his smile broadening. "Yeah, I have a plan."

"Which is...?"

"Attack."

When Steve rejoined them, they charged as one...

***

It was exactly as the Doc had said it would be.

Nat spotted the bird carcasses first and then the other small animals. At least their deaths had meaning, she mused – they were leading her right to the portal. In dying, they'd save everyone.

Coulson would probably love that idea, sap that he was. He was forever looking for meaning in horror.

Nat was more practical. With every carcass and dead plant, she grew more confident in her direction and picked up speed. It wasn't long before she knew she'd found the right spot – a great swath of dead grass where no bug chirped and nothing moved save for a slight shimmering of the air itself.

"Alright Doc," Nat said, kneeling down to open the lead box. "Let's see what this does."

The ground shook beneath her and Nat looked up to see the hulk racing towards her. He was badly injured but determinedly running towards her despite the giant chasing closely behind. Instinctively, Nat reached for the box's latch, hoping to open it and get away before the hulk could reach her, but he roared and reached for her the moment that she did.

"No!" the hulk roared. He lost his balance when he did and tumbled heavily into the ground, allowing Nat to see the javelins jutting from his back. It also allowed the chasing giant to pounce.

The two brutes grappled fiercely and Nat could see the giant was carrying javelin wounds, too. Looking up the field, Nat could see Clint racing towards them with a javelin in hand, ready to launch.

"Clint, wait!" she shouted, but Clint was too far off. He launched the javelin and Nat watched it split into three pieces and rain down on the grapplers. One piece sailed clean through the hulk's side while the other two struck the giant. It was enough to make the giant release his grip and the hulk took advantage. Pushing him in just the right way, the hulk got the advantage and snapped the giant's neck with a sickening sound. He roared in victory, pushed weakly to his feet and set his eyes on Nat.

Then he charged with as fierce as look as she had seen yet.

Clint reacted instantly. He shouted to her and launched another javelin at the hulk. All three pieces struck him as he neared her and he once again crashed heavily into the earth. Only by jumping to avoid him did Nat finally see the giant who had been pushing his way through the portal behind her and she realized the hulk had been charging it, not her.

"Clint, no!" she shouted again as Clint prepared to launch another javelin.

"What?" he shouted back.

"Hit that one! Not the green one!"

Clint obeyed and sent a locked javelin straight the giant's face as it emerged from the portal. Then Nat signaled to him that all was fine and stepped over to where the hulk had finally fallen.

He was breathing heavily and obviously struggling to lift himself, but he kept his eyes locked on hers.

"Please..." he said.

"I can do this for you. You've done enough," Nat answered.

"Please..." the hulk repeated. He held his enormous palm out to her and pleaded with a sad enough look to touch even her heart.

Clint reached her as she made her decision. She reached a hand out to steady Clint from doing anything stupid and then placed the lead box in the hulk's hand.

He nodded once, tiredly, and pushed himself to his feet. "Back," he said. "Get back."

Nat took Clint back to where the grass was still green and they watched as the hulk stumbled forward and opened the lead box. Nat wasn't sure what she'd been expecting – maybe an explosion or at least a 'hiss' of some kind, but there was nothing. The hulk simply stood in the portal holding the open box.

After several minutes, Nat noticed the shimmering had disappeared. The hulk slowly sank to his knees and closed the box with the last of his strength. Once he hit the ground, Nat took Clint back over to him and they watched as the hulk slowly turned back into the Doc.

"I've never seen anything like any of this, Nat. What is going on up here?"

She shook her head. "I have no idea, but they really need our help - the Doc here in particular."

"He mean something to you?"

Nat shrugged. "He seems to be the only one who knows what's going on and he's trying to help, he's just doing it all wrong."

"Wait, are you soft on him?"

"I think he's useful. He'll be a good ally."

Clint snorted. "You're in to him."

"Drop it," Nat answered. She looked back towards the village and the smoke rising there. "It looks like they brought down the giants; that's something at least."

"’Drop it’... yeah, like that's going to happen," Clint answered with a cheeky grin. "You're totally in to him."

"His place is back that way," Nat continued, ignoring him. "I'm going to take him there. Check in with Phil and let me know when there's a plan, alright?"

"You're _really_ into him. Ha! Look at you! Sneaking away to make out and everything."

Nat gave him a look that made him lift his hand into the air in mock surrender. "Let me know when there's a plan," she reiterated.

Clint laughed as he walked away. "I get it. Big giant rage monster – just your type. You two will be totally happy. I hope you have a whole brood of enormous, terrifying children."

"I hate you."

"No you don't," Clint answered. "And knock it off – that's my thing with Phil. Get your own thing for the titan here."

"Do you see what I have to put up with, Doc?" Nat took a barrow from the field and packed Bruce onto it as gently as she could. "Maybe you have the right idea living so far away from all these idiots..."

***

Sharon had been with Shield for a long time, but she'd never seen anything like that. Six giants brought down in minutes by three trained fighters. It was the first victory in years that actually felt like a victory.

She stood on the corpse of a giant and laughed at how Fate could be so surprising.

Slowly, villagers began to emerge and Sharon couldn't help but be buoyed by their smiles. She'd been promising them for years that it didn't matter they were not Roman – Shield would protect them anyway.

It was only fair to admit that she'd begun to worry over the past few months that Fury had forgotten her, but that had been needless. He came through in the end as he always did and sent reinforcements exactly when they were needed most. His prescience for that sort of thing was downright supernatural.

"That was some battle, Sharon," Steve said as he reached out a hand to help her down. "How many times have you faced these creatures?"

"Too many times to count." She quickly cleaned and sheathed her sword before turning to survey the damage to the village. "Clean up is always the worst part, though."

"I'd be happy to help however I can."

"Thank you. That will be appreciated by everyone, I'm sure," Sharon answered with a smile. Together they started walking up the way towards the tunnels. "So what's your story, Steve? Why are you helping us?"

"Because you need help."

Sharon laughed but stopped after a moment when he didn't so much as crack a smile. "Oh, you were serious?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" Steve answered.

"Frankly? Yes. It's my experience that people don't just stick their necks out for others."

"Then why do you do it?"

"Orders," she answered.

"Orders? To protect a poor village at the edge of the world?" Steve asked with a skeptical look.

'Yes. We go where we're needed."

Steve shook his head and picked up his pace just enough to make her work to keep up.

“I’m taking it you don’t believe that?” Sharon pressed.

“As individuals, you agents seem to do the right thing, but I’m skeptical about the men who give your orders. Why would the Emperor care so much about these people?"

"The Emperor didn't send me; Shield did."

“Shield is supported by the Emperor, is it not?” Steve asked her. “Why would he do that if you aid his enemies?”

"Shield helps whoever needs it," she answered honestly. "Keeping the gods in check benefits the Emperor just as much as it does the populace. So, Fury handles the politics and we do this..." Sharon answered, waving her hand towards the villagers.

"And if Fury ordered you to leave this village to the giants?"

"He wouldn't."

"But if he did..."

"He wouldn't," Sharon answered firmly. 

"I can't decide if you people are the most naive I've ever met or..."

"Your new best friends?"

Steve smiled when she did, like he just couldn't help it. "Something like that."

"Well, I could give you the answer," Sharon said, turning him to continue their walk. "But you seem the type who likes to figure things out on your own."

"Old habits," Steve answered.

They reached the tunnel opening and joined the crowd helping the children climb out. Sharon was overwhelmed by the sight.

Watching the families reunite and laugh with abandon after so many years of pain and fear ranked as one of the happiest moments of Sharon's life. Things had changed for the better and everyone could feel it.

It was as if all the pieces were finally falling into place. 

"Where's Coulson?" Steve asked her.

"What?"

"The children are out, but I didn't see Agent Coulson, did you?"

Sharon spun around and searched the crowd, but Coulson wasn't the only one missing. "Where's Stark?"

No sooner had Sharon asked then they had their answer. From several blocks over, Stark had kicked into the sky and flown off; heading home from the look of it. Racing to where he'd been, Steve and Sharon found Vellandua's bludgeoned body. All the hope she'd had just a few seconds earlier disappeared in an instant.

"That bastard!" Sharon shouted. "Even after all of that, Stark just had to kill him. He couldn't even wait five minutes!"

"I'm not sure Stark did this. This took a heavy blow and I think fire is more his style." Steve said as he watched Stark's fiery trail disappear into the distance. "We need to find Agent Coulson."

"Do you think he's dead, too?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't think it is coincidence this man is dead. Steve reached down to pull Loki's pendant from around Vellandua's neck. "This man called L...

"Don't say his name."

"You're right; I'm sorry," Steve said. "I simply meant that Fate is at work, here. Gods don't just show up without grander reason. Did this man strike a deal with... him?"

Sharon sighed with frustration, but nodded. "Yes. When he couldn't get weapons from Stark, Vellandua made a deal he thought would keep the village safe."

"Nothing good comes from dealing with the gods."

"These people are desperate. Every year the army marches closer. Vellandua was trying to help."

"I can understand the motivation," Steve answered. "But what did Vellandua offer him in return? I'm sure it was nothing small and I think all of us – including Stark - have been drawn here, now, for a reason."

"You think he has bigger plans?"

"All gods do. Tell me, Sharon, where was he when the giants attacked? Why didn't he oversee the battle?" Steve asked.

Sharon felt her stomach drop. Steve was right; Loki had been a part of every previous battle, gloating if nothing else. She should have realized the fight had been too easy – that things never worked out that simply when gods were involved. "You think it was a distraction while he went after Agent Coulson?"

"I'm not sure," Steve answered. "Maybe it was part of his plan or maybe Coulson presented him with some kind of opportunity, but whatever his reason, I believe Agent Coulson is in grave danger."

***

Phil was in no particular danger, he felt sure. He was in an awful lot of pain, but he'd survived enough beatings to know when someone was pulling their punches and Loki's heart just didn't seem in it.

He was up to something and Phil wanted to know what.

But first, he'd have to get up and that was going to be difficult, as lying limp on the ground just felt so good... but, again, Phil knew how to think through the situation despite the weariness.

"We don't really seem to be getting anywhere, Loki, so how long do you plan to hold me like this?" Phil asked.

"Until you satisfy me."

"Aw, you're not my type," Phil answered with a bloody smile, earning himself another kick to the gut. Loki grabbed him by the neck and pulled Phil's face close to his own.

"You think you're funny, human, and you probably think you're strong, too... but you and I both know the truth."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"That you're weak and alone and desperately clinging to insignificant information as if holding on to it will save your life."

"Why do care so much, if its 'insignificant?'" Phil asked him.

Loki broadened his smile in response and asked his question again. "Which god has claimed you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Phil answered. Again.

But this time rather than hit him, Loki stared with an uncertain look. "Is it even possible for humans to be to so ignorant of the world around them as to miss a god claiming their very souls?"

Of course not. Phil remembered well the deal he'd struck with Pluto to save Clint, but Phil would keep it secret until he learned why it was important to Loki. "I don't even know who you are," Phil answered instead.

That earned him another blow and then Loki sat back on his haunches. He watched Phil curiously until a loud crash caught their attention, as if part of the village itself had collapsed. Loki turned in the sound's direction with a disappointed look and then stood, as if having made a decision.

"Well, I'm disappointed in you, human. Now our conversation needs to continue elsewhere."

"Why do you care so much?" Phil asked as Loki lifted him roughly from the ground.

Loki sighed as it was a question from an annoying child. "I have to know whose property you are before I kill you, in case I incur a debt I'd rather not."

"Wouldn't want that," Phil answered.

"No, we wouldn't."

Loki pulled a talisman from his pocket and whispered words Phil didn't recognize. Then the air began to shimmer and Phil was enveloped in a bright light that left him inexplicably panicked. He lashed out with a sudden jolt of adrenaline and found he was no longer in the tunnel.

Or being held by Loki.

With that blast of adrenaline Phil had sat straight up in a lavishly covered bed, as if waking suddenly from a nightmare. The abrupt change was startlingly unsettling and Phil sat still for a moment just collecting his bearings.

His wounds had been dressed and he felt distinctly rested, as if he'd been in that bed for a while. Intricately embroidered coverings around the bed prevented him from seeing out into the room, but Phil could hear whispered voices just outside.

"This really is unnecessary," Loki said.

"You asked for my help and this is how it will be offered. Accept it or do not, Loki," a woman answered with a patient tone – a mother's tone if Phil was not mistaken.

"Fine," Loki answered after a moment. "You know how to call me."

"I always have."

Phil heard Loki walk away but did not hear the woman move until she'd pulled back the covering opposite him.

"Philip," she said softly.

She was beautiful with regal bearing and long red hair that curled slightly and drew Phil's eyes to the shining gems strung throughout. Phil made a fair guess at who she was – definitely the mother of a god...

"Your majesty?" he asked. The woman smiled kindly in response and Phil was overwhelmed with feelings of love and protection. He felt perfectly at ease.

She was clearly manipulating his mind and Phil knew instantly she was a very dangerous woman despite her kind tone.

"Do not think so harshly of me, Philip," she said. "I am Queen Frigga of Asgard and you are a guest in my home. Do you understand the responsibilities involved in such an arrangement?"

"I do," Phil answered. The rules of hospitality were ancient and universal – a sacred contract between guest and host to honor and protect each other with their lives if necessary. One broke the contract at the risk of damnation, so Frigga's hospitality was both an offer of protection and a threat against Phil trying to do her harm.

"Good. Do you understand why you are here?"

"No," Phil answered. "Nor do I understand how you know my name. Loki never even asked me for it."

"Names have power, Philip. Until he knows what god has claimed you, Loki will be wary to learn yours."

"In case he incurs a debt," Phil added. Frigga nodded and after a moment, Phil did as well. "But you are not worried about the debt; that's why you keep using my name."

"Yes, Philip. I know a great many things about you – more even than you know about yourself."

"How?"

Phil suddenly remembered with vivid clarity being chased through the woods with the young captain. The memory was so clear it was as if he was reliving the moment. He could once again smell the giant and feel the pounding of the earth as it ran. Phil's heart raced in his chest as he relived the panic and it beat so hard, Phil was sure it would seize.

But just as suddenly as the memory appeared, it was gone and replaced with one of Clint. Clint had just returned from the dead and was standing in the morning sunlight, smiling so joyfully at Phil, he thought his heart would seize for a different reason.

Then just as suddenly, that memory too was gone and Phil was once again fully in the present with Frigga.

"You can enter my mind," Phil said quietly.

"I have that ability, yes," Frigga answered. "I know who claimed you and why. Do you?"

Phil saw no point in hiding if she already knew about Clint and the Underworld. "Of course."

"I am not so sure that you do, Philip. Let me ask you one question: what makes you so special that Pluto would deign to meet with you, let alone deal with you?"

"I passed the tests and found my way into the Underworld," Phil answered hesitantly. Hadn't that been enough?

"No one finds their way into the Underworld without Pluto's desire that they do so."

"I don't..." Phil started.

"Pluto wanted you there because he was curious about you," Frigga stated. "As am I, or else I would have handed you back to Loki hours ago rather than making you a guest."

Phil watched her eyes carefully and took a guess at her meaning. "You want to protect me from Loki?"

Frigga smiled, but did not answer him. "Do you appreciate how rare it is for beings such as yourself to come in contact with gods, let alone be marked by one?"

"I know it’s not as common as it once was..."

Frigga waved a hand, dismissing him. "It is not common at all, Philip, and never has been. Midgardians... er, humans... remember the tales precisely because they are so uncommon. They are interesting and worth sharing, if you will. Understand that we do not interact with you because it is fun for us – despite how those tales seem to suggest. We do so because it is important; to teach a lesson or to seek a champion, for example."

"Pluto thought I could be a champion?"

Frigga laughed and when Phil blushed, she reached a soothing hand to his. "No, Philip. We choose champions that reflect our ideals and I'm afraid there is very little about you that reflects Pluto's ideal. Can you not think of another to whom you're more suited?"

That Phil was anyone's champion was a ridiculous notion. He couldn't think of any gods who idealized the competent filing of bureaucratic paperwork or the ability to cobble together ragtag groups of pseudo mercenaries...

Frigga laughed again. "You think so little of yourself, Philip. I can see why he chose you."

"Thank you?"

"Tell me why you went to the Underworld," Frigga asked.

"One of my men had died," Phil answered simply, but Freya's patient smile made him blush like a child caught in a half truth.

"You've lost men before. Why was this one so important?" she pressed.

"Because I love him."

"With all of your heart and soul," Frigga continued for him, smiling at the truth of the statement. "Whose ideal does that sound like?"

"I've never met Venus."

"No, but you met Eros. He was the reason you met your love in the first place, wasn't he?"

"He was just a rumor; I only found Clint." Phil answered.

"Who struck you with an arrow using Eros' aim," Frigga continued. "We mark mortals with potential when we find them – Eros saw your potential and marked you. When you faced Pluto's challenges and forced your way into the Underworld in the name of love, you realized that potential and became Eros' champion - his living ideal, a man who would accomplish the impossible for love."

Phil smiled at the ridiculous thought. Phil Coulson, Champion of love. Clint would never let him live that down...

"But then you threw it all away," Frigga continued.

"Wait… what?" Phil asked, suddenly confused.

"You had all the rights and privileges of a champion – you could have claimed your love and taken him to the surface, but instead, you allowed Pluto to trick you. You bargained away your champion's soul for nothing."

Phil felt his face flush hotly. He'd gone from champion to chump in three seconds. Clint would never let him live that down, either.

"I didn't know..."

"And now you will spend eternity in torment because you played a game without learning the rules."

"Clint's alive; that's all that matters," Phil said stubbornly, but meaning every word. Any price was worth a life with Clint.

"Spoken like a true champion. But Philip, what if I told you it does not have to be that way?"

"Are you going to trick me, too then?"

"Mind your tone, Philip," Frigga said in measured tone. "I am in a position to offer you a better outcome."

"Why?"

"Because my son also plays games without learning the rules," Frigga answered. "Right now he is risking great consequence for small victory. I love my son, but I cannot allow that to happen."

"Small victory? You mean attacking the Brigantes?"

Frigga looked taken aback at the suggestion. "He is a son of Asgard, Philip. Peasant villages are not worth conquest. The location merely provides him a portal large enough to move his army."

"Then what victory? What is he after?"

"Midgard," Frigga answered as if it should have been obvious.

"My _world?_ " Phil asked, stunned. "That's a 'small' victory to you?"

Frigga sat back and resumed her patient tone. "My husband, King Odin, rules over all the worlds; Loki trying to take one is his way of getting attention."

Gods... Phil thought to himself. Their lack of humanity was the one thing that never surprised him. It was their defining trait, after all, and Phil found that his awe of Frigga was gone.

"So what do you want with me?" he asked her.

"Loki has chosen to align his destiny with Midgard and I am obligated to support him."

"But...?"

"His choice risks Asgard. I need a champion who can stop him."

Phil almost laughed. "And you think I can somehow do that?"

"Possibly," Frigga answered. "I have been in your mind; I know you."

"Then you know I will defend my world no matter what, so what are you really asking me?"

"To make sure my son is not killed in the process," Frigga answered firmly. "Stop him, but return him to me. Do that and I will settle your debt with Pluto."

"Can gods even be killed?"

"Yes," she answered simply, stunning Phil into silence.

"And you think I can..." he started after a moment.

"Do we have a bargain or not, Philip?" Frigga asked, cutting him off.

"What happens if I refuse?"

"Then Loki will kill you and you will go to your torment," Frigga answered. "Fail and I will kill you and leave you to the same fate, knowing none of it was necessary."

Phil watched her for a long moment wondering if there was any actual choice in what she was offering. "I will do what I can," he answered finally.

"And I will offer assistance in my way.” Frigga pulled from her sleeve an intricately woven bracelet of varied metals, each strip of which was engraved with tiny symbols. She wrapped it tightly around the wrist of Phil’s weak arm and a moment later, Phil felt a searing pain. He watched in shock as the tiny symbols faded from the bracelet and seemed to absorb into his skin. They migrated up his arm as if moving on a current and then faded away.

Instantly, Phil could feel strength returning to his arm. He looked at Frigga with wide eyes, but she watched back with the dispassion of a routine event.

“Remove that bracelet at your peril, Philip.”

“Why? What will happen?”

But she did not answer. Instead and her business done, Frigga stood and called out. “Loki?"

"Yes, Mother? Do you know who has claimed him?” Loki asked as he stepped into the room.

"You know, Loki, I will not always be around to answer your questions. You must learn to find answers yourself."

"I do not have your abilities, Mother."

"It is not always about power. Sometimes it is much simpler than that," Frigga answered. She pointed towards Phil's gear, stacked in the corner. "When I dressed his wounds, I saw what he had on him. Go and see for yourself."

Reluctantly, Loki rifled through the gear until he found the little hammer pendant Phil had pocketed. "Thor?! Thor claimed _you? >/i> That's ridiculous."_

"What's ridiculous?" a booming voice called from the hall. Thor, Phil could only presume.

"You claimed this human? _This_ one?"

Thor stepped into the room and Phil realized instantly why Loki thought it such a preposterous idea. Thor was huge – a warrior god if Phil had ever seen one.

Thor looked from Loki to Phil and then to his mother. He held her eyes the longest and Phil noticed he nodded just slightly to her, as if acknowledging some unspoken command.

"Would you so openly challenge my decisions, brother?" Thor asked sternly, taking the pendant from Loki's hand. Loki opened his mouth to say something, but then looked to his mother and closed it again.

"I believe your father wishes to speak with you, Loki," Frigga said. "Go and see him."

Loki straightened himself and nodded to her, then turned to face Phil before leaving. "I will see you again, human."

When he was gone, Thor approached the bed and shared another silent look with Frigga. Then without a further word, she got up and left, leaving Phil alone with Thor.

Thor held up the pendant. "I did not give this to you. Where is the man who possessed it?"

"Dead," Phil answered. "The pendant was found among the ashes."

"Hmm..." Thor answered with a nod. He pocketed the little pendant and then looked to Phil's eyes, judging him.

“And with him dead you thought you’d claim my protection?”

"No," Phil answered simply.

Thor nodded approvingly. “Then why did you come to Asgard?”

“Loki brought me,” Phil answered. “He needs to be stopped and I’ll do that with or without your protection… though hopefully, with it…”

Thor watched him with a grave look before bursting into a belly laugh. "You certainly have spirit, human! You were indeed friends with Vitellius, I can see it now."

"Thank you?"

"But as I told him, no human will stop Loki. He is a son of Asgard. Only another such can stop him."

"I'll find a way," Phil answered.

"No, human, you will not," Thor replied, still chuckling. "But I applaud the fighting spirit you show! If all humans were such, you would indeed be a feared race."

“Will you help me stop him, then?”

Thor smiled a kind smile, the kind you’d give a child for asking a preposterous question. “He is my brother, human, and a son of Odin. If he wishes to dally on Midgard, who am I to question him. I merely gave Vitellius protection against thrall, so he could stand and fight on his own.”

“And if my world falls while you stand aside?”

“Your world?” Thor asked, scowling. “Do you not think that a bit dramatic, human?”

“No, I don’t,” Phil answered. “And neither did your mother.”

“Be very careful what you say next, human…”

“Her Majesty,” Phil said, carefully adjusting his tone, “knows Loki’s plans do not stop with a few villages. He has giants and…”

“Giants? He commands jötnar?”

"Yes, he's been using them for some time."

“You lie.” Thor spat.

“I’m a guest in your home – I can’t lie to you.”

“Then you are mistaken.” Thor moved immediately to the side wall and opened a pair of balcony doors. He held an outstretched hand towards the sky. "Rise, human. Get your things."

Phil hesitated, but when an enormous hammer flew through the doorway and slammed into Thor's outstretched hand... Phil decided to do as Thor asked. He got up quickly and grabbed his gear.

"Come to me," Thor commanded and Phil complied. He stepped into the doorway and Thor wrapped a heavily muscled arm around Phil.

"Um... what are you...?" Phil started to ask.

"Loki is my brother; I will not be turned against him by a human's words. You will prove your claim to me." Then Thor kicked off and the two men were lifted skyward, carried by the magical hammer.

***

Tony slammed to the ground just outside of his villa. Even as upset as his was, his ever-active mind kept assessing the equipment; he'd have to learn to control his landings – maybe some dampers or foils would help – and he was going to have to re-seat all of the tubes – they built up too much heat in just the wrong places...

He went straight to the workshop and tossed pieces of his suit to the ground as he shed them. Needing their reassuring weight, he found tools, put them in his hands, and then fired up the furnace. It was easy enough to do these days – a single burst from his chest started things off nicely.

When the fire was ready, Tony collected the remains of his suit and tossed them into the crucible. He watched them melt and tried to focus on the work – the problems he could solve.

Maybe if he made new boots, he could control his flight better. And new ports in the gauntlets might create a more focused bursts so he wasn't just casting fire about like an idiot. He'd have to encase the tubes, as well – after watching Barton he knew that one stray arrow could pierce them and then where would he be?

He should have thought of all this before. His father had been right; he was too unfocused for this kind of work. Too stupid, too greedy…

Tony didn't hear Pepper walk into the workshop until she was practically standing next to him. Her eyes lingered on the fire in his chest before moving up to study his hastily wrapped shoulder.

“What happened?” she asked simply.

Tony thought of giving a snarky reply but then said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak just yet and the last thing he wanted to do was say something stupid, like he always did. For once, he just wanted to be quiet and still, for her to be closer to him, to wrap her arms around him, and tell him that everything would be ok…

As if reading his mind, Pepper stepped behind him and carefully wrapped her arms around his middle. She kissed the back of his neck lightly and rested her head against his.

"He wasn't there?" she asked once Tony finally relaxed into her touch.

Tony let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "No, he was there."

"You let him live?"

"No," Tony answered quietly. "No, he's dead."

Pepper pulled away and turned him just enough to look in his eyes. "But I thought Vulcan would take the fire back once you had your revenge."

"I didn't get my revenge," Tony said. He pushed away and grabbed a rag to wipe his hands, the frustration building in him once again.

"Tony, look at me."

He did so reluctantly. He'd disappointed Pepper so many times in their lives, but never like this, never this badly. “I had him, Pep. I had him right there in my hands…”

“Then, what happened?”

“Coulson and his god damned team, that’s what happened.”

“They killed Vellandua?” Pepper asked, her eyebrows rising in surprise.

“No, a giant threw him through a wall,” Tony answered with a dismissive wave. He threw the rag in frustration and wiped at his face with his hands. “I had him, Pep. He was right there; I could have done it.”

“So what stopped you?”

“Barton shot me.”

“But before Clint shot you?”

Tony looked up Pepper, unsure he’d heard her correctly. “What’s that supposed to mean?’”

Pepper shifted her weight to her other hip and looked him squarely in the eye. “I know you and I know him; I don’t believe for a second Clint could have stopped you unless you gave him the opportunity to do it.”

“You’re kidding me right now, right Pep? Gave him the opportunity?” he asked.

Pepper held her steady gaze. “You’re the most determined man I’ve ever known, Tony. If you had wanted Vellandua dead – really wanted it – he’d be dead.

“’Really wanted it?’ You know, not everything is as simple as what I want.”

“That’s… never been true, Tony.”

Tony felt the fire start to build in his chest and knew he needed to be careful. He was unstable, which meant so was the fire… “You know what? I’m not doing this right now,” he said, walking back towards the furnace. “I’ve had a pretty spectacularly bad day and I don’t need you telling me that I, what, screwed up on purpose?”

“Then tell me what actually happened. Did you toy with him first and lose your chance? Or did you think twice about killing him and lose it that way?”

“What would there be to think twice about? Do you think I like having this thing in my chest?” he asked, tapping his chest close enough to feel the fire singe his fingertips.

“Sometimes, yes I do.”

Tony was taken aback. “You’re serious about this.”

“Yes, I am,” she answered, crossing her arms. “How long has it been, Tony? How many little no-name villages did you search before you finally found an excuse to actually go after him.”

“An excuse?”

“Yes, Tony. An excuse. You’ve been using these suits for months and you’ve loved every minute. Sailing in to the rescue, stopping bandits, securing the villages… doing everything except the one thing you needed to do to end Vulcan’s agreement.”

“I found him, Pep, alright? Yes, it took a while and yes I stopped to help some people along the way, but why wouldn’t I do that? They needed me – actually needed me – and for the first time in my life, I was able help them instead of just sitting here…”

“Living a normal life? With me? Was that so awful that you needed to find something more?”

“I was helping people, Pepper. Out of everything I’ve done, why is this the thing you’re pissed about?”

“Because you’re going to kill yourself, Tony. Playing the hero…”

“I shouldn’t even be alive, Pepper, do you get that? Not unless Vulcan had some reason for it. Vellandua’s dead and the fire is still in my chest… what else am I supposed to read from that?”

"That you missed your chance,” Pepper answered. “You had a chance to kill him and come home to me…or let him go. I think Vulcan gave you that choice and I was not the one you picked.”

“That’s not fair, Pep, and you know it. Everything I've done was so I could end him; for you, for us.”

“Of course it was, Tony. But along the way you realized how much fun it was playing god. You love all of this,” Pepper said, waving her hand back towards the row of suits that hung on the wall. “So much so, that you couldn’t give it up, could you?”

“I tried, Pep.”

“Yes, Tony. You tried…” Pepper said. “You talked a god into rescuing you, giving you his sacred fire and a piece of his strongest metal. You’ve built suits that let you fly. You’ve designed more weapons for Shield in the last few months than you or your father ever made, combined… But when it came time to kill a man with a sword so that you could finally come home and be with me, well… you tried, right? You really _tried_.”

Pepper’s words hung in the air for a moment before she started to walk away.

“You stood by my side all these years while I reaped the benefits of destruction. Now that I'm trying to protect the people I've put in harm's way, you’re what… going to leave me?”

“Do you remember the last time we tried to make love?” she asked without turning back.

Tony turned away instinctively at the memory, unable to face her.

“You burned me, Tony,” Pepper said quietly. “I have stayed by you through everything – _everything_ – because I knew you loved me, in your way. And I knew you were happy, even when I wasn't a part of that.” Pepper turned back to face him and he could just make out the tear on her cheek, glistening in the moonlight. "But you're never going to have your revenge, Tony, not because Vellandua's dead, but because there will always be someone out there who needs it and you want to be the man to fly in and get it for them. That's who you are now, who you want to be, and I can't be a part of that. I'm not going to watch you kill yourself."

She stepped quietly to him and placed in his hand the intaglio ring of Stata Mater he’d given her while recovering. “May she protect you, Tony. I think she's the only one who can.” Pepper kissed his cheek and then turned to leave.

Tony watched her walk alone across the courtyard and then reached for his tools.

***

Clint spent the night staring out over the moor, looking for any sign of Phil, but he knew Phil was not there. Loki had him; Clint was as sure of that as he was of anything.

Steve and Sharon had let him be, after a while. They'd helped him search for as long as was rational – a little longer, actually, no doubt out of deference to his feelings – but they’d turned their attention back to the village eventually - they'd wanted to make sure the villagers all had safe shelter for the night.

Clint understood, even if it was bullshit. Phil was in some unknown netherworld, but yeah... let's all clap ourselves on the back and get those fences fixed.

They were like two peas in a pod, Steve and Sharon – thinking and acting almost like one. It was as if they'd known each other their whole lives, assessing and prioritizing the same things in the same way. Phil would love it, if he were around to see.

But oh yeah... he wasn't. And no one but Clint seemed to give a rat's ass about that.

There wasn't going to be a rescue mission. Phil wasn't going to be anyone's priority. It wasn't logical. Fences needed to be repaired.

"Well, screw you all," Clint muttered to himself. Phil had found his way into the Underworld for him; maybe it was time for Clint to return the favor.

Clint pulled out the tiny pendant he'd swiped from Vellandua's body and studied it in the moonlight. He could get to Loki and from there get to Phil.

“Loki, you son of a bitch. Get down here. Let’s make a deal.”

***

It was a long night for Nat and the Doc; Nat even thought she might lose him at a few points, but the Doc was apparently a fighter.

It was lucky, Nat realized, that his wounds had shrunk as his body had, otherwise the Doc might have bled out in the field. Still, only the fact that his body was covered in similar little scars had given Nat hope the Doc would pull through. When his fever broke in the wee hours and his breathing finally settled into a steady rhythm, Nat had relaxed enough to get some rest for herself. She slept outside under the stars in the Doc's little chair.

At first light, Nat rose and went to bathe in the stream. She splashed the cold water onto her face and drew a sharp breath, hoping the effects would help her wake up, but it didn’t quite work. The events of the last few nights were taking their toll and she lingered perhaps longer than she otherwise would, enjoying the peace and quiet of the place. Even when she saw the smoke start to rise from the chimney and knew the Doc was awake, Nat lingered and enjoyed the moment.

The Doc stepped out of the doorway a moment later and turned towards the stream, but stopped cold when he saw her. Nat couldn't help but smile at his shocked, wide-eyed expression when he realized she was bathing. He turned quickly around, embarrassed to have caught her.

"I'm... so sorry," he said. "I didn't... I thought... I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Doc. Nothing you haven't seen before," Nat answered. "At least... I presume."

He turned to look at her with a comically incredulous look that made her laugh and obviously broke the awkwardness. "Yes..." he answered and then turned back to the door. He reached inside and pulled out a cloak from the hanger. Keeping his eyes to the ground, he limped slowly towards her and held it up for her as she stepped from the stream and into it. "That doesn't mean I'm going to gawk."

"What was her name?"

The Doc looked briefly to her eyes, then away again. "Betty," he answered.

"She didn't like the other guy?"

"She died," he answered flatly before stepping past her to collect fish from the weir.

"I'm sorry, Doc."

"It was a long time ago," he answered. He took the fish and went inside; Nat followed him. "And would you please stop calling me 'Doc?'"

"I don't know... there's a kind of power in having an alias, don't you think?"

"Like 'Widow'?" Nat nodded and the Doc gave her an uncertain smile in return. "Perhaps, but I think I'd rather you thought of me as a person than a thing. I get enough of that from everyone else."

Nat could only stare at him; it was an oddly similar statement to one she'd made to Phil a few years ago.

Bruce made breakfast and brought it to her.

"Thank you, Bruce," she answered, earning herself a quick, acknowledging smile. "Is that when you came up here? When Betty died?" Nat asked.

"No, but it's when I should have. Other people died before I decided to leave."

Nat nodded approvingly at his words; she could read between the lines and was sure those responsible for Betty's death had paid dearly...

She could relate to that.

"Is this your penance, then?"

Bruce didn't answer for a long moment. He sat quietly and ate his food and Nat had just about decided he wouldn't answer, when he looked up to her. “I can’t be forgiven for what I’ve done.”

“There you go confusing yourself and the other guy again. He’s not you and he’s not the boss of you, either.”

"He kind of is..."

"No, Bruce. You've just let him be."

Bruce laughed at the suggestion. "As should be perfectly obvious by now, I don't control him."

"Liar."

Bruce's eyebrow arched at that. "Excuse me?"

"The first time I met your big green friend, you weren't there; I'm certain of that. But yesterday? I went to open the box and you begged me not to. You. The other guy would have just taken it."

"I... don't remember any of it."

Nat waved a hand. "Irrelevant. When it mattered, you were there, which makes me think that all the other times, you simply cede control. You give up, Bruce; give in."

Bruce's face flushed red. "That's not... what happens."

"Maybe," Nat answered. "But you said he was getting more difficult to control. Why do you think that is?"

"I think it has something to do with the ore and the portals."

"Again, maybe. Or maybe it's just gotten harder to want to be you."

"You don't know me..." he stated flatly.

Nat smiled, relishing how the tables had turned from their first conversation. "I know you better than you think," she answered. "Bruce, I know the other guy isn't gentle or subtle, but I've done some things that would make even him blush. And like you, I didn't choose that life – I was made into something that gives grown men nightmares. Do you believe me?"

Bruce nodded solemnly and Nat smiled. "Good. I did bad things because I was tortured, or blackmailed, or paid... but the worst things I ever did, I did when I convinced myself that I didn't have any other choice because it was just who I was - when I stopped even trying to fight it. Here, look up at me..." 

Nat gently pulled free her necklace and held it out so he could see the pendant.

"My mother gave me this when I was sold," Nat continued. "'Don't let them make you something you're not,' she told me and made me promise to never forget where I came from. It was the only thing I had and I hid it for years so no one could take it from me. When Coulson found me, I took it out again and realized I'd been hiding it for so long, I didn't even recognize it, let alone remembered what it meant. No one took it from me, but I lost it all the same and right now, I think you have the same problem. You've been hiding the other guy for so long that you've forgotten you're not him."

"I… am touched that you would share that with me, but it's not the same thing."

"I don't turn green, Bruce, but I can still become a monster," Nat answered. "She's there, under the surface, but I don't have to be her anymore. She's a part of who I am, but she's not who I am. I wear this necklace to remind myself what happens when I lose sight of that."

"Remembering who I am isn't going to stop him from showing up," Bruce said quietly.

"I'm not so sure of that," Nat pressed. "Everything you do is for him – where and how you live your life, what you eat, who you let in... all of that gives him power over you and tells him you're nothing, that you don't matter, only he does. He's the one in control and Bruce, I'm guessing if you think back, it wasn't always that way."

Bruce watched her closely and when it was clear he didn't know what to say, Nat undid the necklace and clasped it around his neck. "Here, until you remember who you were, remember what I'm saying to you now."

"I... I can't take this."

"You're not taking it; you're borrowing it until you find something of your own. And frankly? I think you need it right now more than me."

"I don't even know your name..."

"The necklace is enough for now. Let's see what you do with it first," Nat said with a wink. "Thank you for breakfast, Bruce, but I'm going to head back from the village and see how things are going."

"I should come..."

"You should rest. Look..." Nat answered gesturing to the windows. "The skies are clear; all is well. Rest and finish healing."

"I’m going to come,” Bruce said more firmly. “I’d like to see if maybe I can help the village.”

“You? Or him?”

“Me.”

Nat smiled as he answered. “That sounds good. Finish up and we’ll head out.”

***

 

Nat led Bruce slowly across the moor, letting his still-healing body adjust to the terrain and pace.

“How old were you when you were sold?” Bruce asked somewhat awkwardly.

“The first time? Four or five,” Nat answered. "It was easier for them to mold children than retrain adults."

"Who were 'they'?

"A cult. They're not around anymore," Nat answered flatly, making Bruce nod in understanding as she had done for him. "What about you? How old were you when the other guy showed up?”

“Not so young," Bruce answered with an apologetic smile. "I'd just married Betty and taken an apprentice."

"A kid, huh? How'd he handle the other guy?"

"Better than me. He actually stayed on for a while and then joined the army himself."

"You were in the army?"

Bruce grimaced. "I was designing weapons for them back then."

"Like Stark."

"No," Bruce said immediately. "Stark builds what the army wants. It was my job to dream up what the army wanted."

"Ah," Nat answered. Bruce's guilt over the other guy suddenly seemed to make more sense. "Was the other guy something you dreamed up?"

"Not in the way you mean, but... yes. The weapon I designed brought him out."

"Sweet Mithras," Nat said under her breath. "The army is brutal enough as it is; I can't imagine them with that kind of power."

Bruce smiled to himself. "Well, they don't have that kind of power anymore."

"You took your designs with you," Nat guessed, approvingly.

"There's a reason I live as far from the legions as possible," Bruce answered, stopping and turning to her. "I will never let them have that kind of power."

"That's a very noble sentiment."

"It's the truth. What's true for you?"

"I'm... flexible with the truth."

"I've gotten that impression, 'Widow,'" Bruce said.

Nat rolled her eyes, slightly. "I find it's easier to keep your true self buried under several layers of untrue selves, to protect yourself."

"That's not a great way to live."

"Says the man living all alone in the middle of nowhere," Nat answered with a cocked eyebrow. "Look, I've just found that the truth isn't all things to all people all of the time. I do what I need to do to survive and to, I don't know... maybe make up for all the other stuff I did to survive."

Bruce frowned deeply. "You were just a child."

"Until I wasn't anymore."

"Which is what makes you remarkable."

Nat's brow furrowed. "How's that, Doc?"

"I was an adult when I changed," Bruce explained. "I'd lived life, I knew right from wrong, but you were just a child and never got the chance to develop that sense. Right was whatever they told you it was and yet somehow as an adult you realized differently and changed course. That's not usually possible. It takes an exceptionally open mind and strong will."

"Or an execution order," Nat said, uncomfortably laughing off his too-serious comments.

"I'm being serious..."

"I get the sense you're always serious, Bruce." Nat turned and started to move on. "'A man would praise her when he came to understand her,'" she called back over her shoulder.

"Was that... you've read Hesiod?"

"I've read a lot of things, Doc. I get bored easily."

Bruce caught up and touched her arm, stopping her and causing her to turn around. "You're incredible..." he said.

"So was Pandora." Nat smiled kindly and reached up to kiss him gently on the lips. "Don't see me as a gift, Bruce."

"You're not the boss of me, either."

Nat turned away before he could see her widening smile. It was probably best not to encourage him more than she already had… even if it was starting to be fun.

They walked silently the rest of the way to the village outskirts.

***

 

Clint was standing by the fence line, watching them as they approached. Nat could judge from his posture that something was very wrong. She left Bruce to catch up at his own pace.

"What happened?" Nat asked.

"Phil's gone."

It was everything Nat could do to not outwardly react to that statement. "What do you mean 'Phil's gone?'" she asked in measure tone.

"Loki took him," Clint answered.

Bruce's eyes went wide in alarm as he approached. "Don't say his name! It can summon him."

"I've been saying his name all morning, buddy," Clint answered. "If the asshole wanted to be here, he'd be here to... face me like a man!" Clint shouted upward. He spun in a tight circle with his arms extended as if to challenge the sky itself. "Face me, Loki! You coward! Challenge me for Phil! Get DOWN HERE!"

"Enough, you idiot," Nat said, stilling him the way only she could. She stepped to Clint and pulled his arms back down, then reached to grab his hand. "Stop playing his game."

"I want to play his game, Nat. He has Phil; I have to get him back."

"And we will..."

Clint pulled sharply from her and stomped away before stomping right back – angrily pacing. "Who knows what he's doing to Phil right now. Right now, Nat."

"Phil's a tough old bastard."

Clint wheeled on her. "He's not old. He's not… he's a badass, he's strong…"

"Exactly," Nat said calmly. She stepped to Clint and held his wrist just strongly enough that he couldn't pace away from her. She needed Clint to calm down and think about Phil – not about Phil being taken, but about Phil and what they both new Phil was capable of doing when cornered and desperate.

Empires could fall...

Nat watched Clint's face until he finally looked in her eyes. "Phil has been in worse spots before. You know what he can do and you know what we need to do to get ready."

Nat watched the competing emotions play out across Clint's face – he was angry, upset, and scared, but he was an old soldier, too. He could compartmentalize when he had to and she was reminding him to focus.

Nat released his wrist when Clint calmly nodded. "I'll get some tools," he said simply.

Nat watched him go and turned back to Bruce. His face was scrunched in confusion.

“Ready for what? I don’t understand what’s happening,” he said.

“Loki bit off more than he could he chew.”

“By taking your friend?” Bruce asked hesitantly. “I don’t want to be insensitive… but he’s a god. Do you really think your friend can challenge him?”

Nat smiled at the question. “Phil once challenged Pluto and lived to tell about it. Loki is the one you need to pity right now.”

"Ok, wow... so, uh, what is it we 'need to do?'"

"Get ready for when Phil finds his way back." She looked back across the moor and the clear skies that stretched from horizon to horizon. "A storm's coming, Bruce."

***

Phil was flying... and it was the single most terrifying experience of his life.

Thor had at best a casual hold of him, which left Phil constantly feeling like he would plummet to his death as they zipped across the city. Phil only relaxed when they started to cross a spectacular bridge of radiant colors. It was so brilliant and otherworldly, that Phil was too wonderstruck to be afraid.

They came to a rest at the end of the long bridge, just outside of a large, domed structure of intricate design. It was guarded by the most enormous warrior Phil had ever seen, but Thor seemed unimpressed by the man's imposing figure.

"Heimdall," Thor said as he approached.

"My prince."

"Have you given my brother passage to Jötenheim?"

"No, my prince."

Thor wheeled on Phil, grabbed him by the shirtfront, and lifted him off his feet. "You have lied to me."

"No, I haven't," Phil calmly assured.

"Heimdall sees all and controls the only access to the Jötenheim. Why have you tried to turn me against my brother?"

Phil swallowed. He realized he was probably going to die, but it wasn't like that was a new experience for him. He'd been in enough 'probably going to die' situations to recognize he had an opening...

Heimdall was an old soldier, like him, and old soldiers knew to always answer a superior's questions with care. Direct questions were often necessary to get at the truth.

"Heimdall, do you see all?" Phil asked.

"I do."

"Whether you gave him passage or not, has Loki been to the … Jot... Jotun..."

" Jötenheim,” Heimdall supplied. “Yes, he has."

Thor turned back with a shocked look. "How is that possible, Heimdall? Did you abandon your post?"

"Never, my prince. Your brother has found another way."

"There are no other ways. The Bifrost is the only link between the nine realms; the All Father made it so."

Heimdall said nothing and Phil guessed it was because he hadn't actually been asked a question, so Phil pressed on. "Do you know how he got there?"

"I do," Heimdall answered with a slight nod. "He has created a passage below us."

Thor placed Phil back on the ground and approached Heimdall, getting his face within inches of Heimdall's.

"You are trusted with the safety of all Asgard!" Thor shouted. "How can you have allowed this? The All Father must be told."

"My king is aware," Heimdall answered calmly.

"Father knows?" Thor stepped back as if struck. "But why would he allow that?"

"That is not for me to know or to presume," Heimdall answered.

"To bring giants against my people," Phil answered for him.

"No," Thor insisted. "The jötnar would not just help Loki attack a world. There is too much at risk for them."

Phil thought back to the village children and how easily they'd been controlled. "Could he have enthralled them?"

Thor lifted Phil by his shirtfront again, but Phil could see it was an empty, emotional gesture. Thor was angry, but he wasn't sure at whom. "My brother would not do that," Thor said quietly after a moment.

“Has he done it, Heimdall?” Phil asked over his shoulder.

“He has.”

Thor cursed in his own language and then with Phil still in the air, lifted his hammer with his other hand. Lightning struck all around them in response.

“I will not believe it until I see it with my own eyes. Heimdall, prepare us an entry to the Jötenheim.”

Phil suddenly had a sinking feeling. One that involved giants – lots of them. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘us?’”

"I have summoned my warriors, human. When they arrive, we will travel to the Jötenheim and you will see how wrong you are."

***

Tony stepped back to admire his work. The new greaves he’d crafted fit snuggly to his legs and completely encased the piping. Not only would they protect against damage, the new ports he’d designed would allow for small bursts of fire at different angles and, in theory, allow him to move laterally instead of just vertically. It was time to test.

“You ready Jarvis?” he asked without looking around.

“Yes, sir,” answered a tall servant, who had surrounded himself with buckets of water. “Standing by.”

“Is Felix coming or no?”

“I believe he is with Ms. Potts, sir,” Jarvis answered. “Would you like me to get him?”

“No, no,” Tony answered. He knew where Felix’s loyalties stood; there would be no point in fighting for them.

Tony moved to the center of the workspace and shook out his muscles like an athlete. He could feel adrenaline coursing through him just as roughly as the fire. He couldn’t deny Pepper was right – he loved this part. “Greaves test, mark 1. Write it down,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Play louder, boys! And something with a deeper tone,” Tony called out to the trio of musicians huddled in the corner. “Give me a beat.”

The tympanum player responded immediately, sending a driving beat across the space. Tony closed his eyes and nodded in rhythm approvingly. Then, with a little force of will, Tony cast fire through the pipes and into the greaves; it lifted him slowly from the ground as he tested his control.

Controlling the fire made for an incredible sensation. Tony could feel it snake through the pipes and he found that with just a little bit of thought, he could channel it in one direction or another. A little more force into one greave sent him sliding sideways through the air; a little burst into the other greave sent him sliding in the opposite direction. With a little practice, Tony was sure he’d be the master of the air.

He felt powerful, invincible.

“I’m taking this outside,” he announced as he glided out the door.

Building speed as he went, Tony swooped through gates and around buildings. He practiced dodging fence posts and garden sculptures. Then flying out over the fields, he practiced crashing – rolling with the momentum and kicking off again.

The field slaves put down their tools and watched; some whooped and laughed as he flew by.

“Are you making yourself an iron man, sir?” one called out as Tony passed.

Iron Man. Simple, obvious… it had a certain ring to it. He loved it.

Tony waved as he passed and then flew out towards a lone figure in the furthest part of the field. He hadn’t remembered ordering anyone to work that part of the land, but then again, he hardly ever paid attention to the business. That was Pepper’s domain. Or at least it was…

…was she really going to leave?

Tony came to a stop near the lone field hand and cast a look back towards the villa. She couldn’t really believe he was going to kill himself doing this, could she? He was too good at this. He was the Iron Man. He controlled Vulcan’s fire…

“But you’re not the fire’s master, are you?” asked the field hand.

Tony turned to look at the man and realized the tool in his hand was not a tool, but a scepter.

“Loki,” he said, stunned.

“That fire does not belong to you, human,” Loki continued. “At best, it is borrowed, and I suspect someday you’ll be asked to return it.”

“Yeah, well, I can probably do a lot of damage before then. Do you want to see how much?”

Loki smiled. “I’m curious how much that fire cost you.”

“I’m curious why you care.”

“Because I may be able to offer you a better deal,” Loki answered. He waved his arm towards the villa and the out buildings. “You certainly don’t want for money, but power… that seems to interest you very much. I can provide it.”

“Really?” Tony asked with a smile of his own. “Because the way I remember it, you just got your ass kicked by a bunch of farmers up North.”

Loki waved a dismissing hand. “Power is not just about brute force, human. There are many ways to exert influence.”

“Look, I don’t know what game you want to play, Loki, but the last time I saw you, you were running away from my fire, so I think I understand a thing or two about exerting influence.”

“Really?” Loki asked with a widening smile. “Should I take that to mean you aren’t interested in an offer?”

“What could you possibly offer me that Vulcan hasn’t already?”

Loki lifted his staff so Tony could see it better. “You’ve seen what this can do, I believe?”

Tony laughed. “I don’t need to control people like that; I already own slaves.”

“Perhaps, but your lady doesn’t seem very compliant, does she? I could change that for you.”

“You don’t talk to a lot of women, do you, Loki?”

“I don’t need to talk to them; I have this.”

Tony felt his stomach roll. Clearly Loki wasn’t just a threat to that Briganten village.

“I don’t want what you’re offering, Loki. Now get off my land.”

“Or you’ll do what, precisely?”

Tony let the fire build just enough to begin sparking from the ports in his greaves. “I made you run once, have you forgotten?”

“Yet you failed to stop me. Have you forgotten that?” Loki answered. “But that’s hardly the point, human, because I don’t need to fight you – or to fight anyone, really. Not while I have this scepter. What was that brooding fellow’s name again? Felix?”

Tony felt his stomach drop as the adrenaline-spike of alarm shot through him. Felix was with Pepper…

“I was making you a good offer, human. You can have the power to control the people around you or you can reject that power – I really don’t care. What matters to me is that you stay out of the North. Leave me be and I will let you – and your woman – be. Do we have that deal?”

Tony stared, unable to think or move. Loki smiled in response.

“Stay out of the North. Enjoy your precious fire,” Loki said before stepping through a shimmering haze and disappearing.

Tony kicked off the ground immediately and flew towards the villa. He’d been threatened many times in his life – in his line of work, it was practically part of the job. But no one had ever threatened Pepper and the feelings it evoked were all-consuming. Fear, anger, and despair all filled him as he pushed the limits of the fire and raced home at a speed he’d never reached before or even believed was possible to achieve.

He refused to slow down until he crashed through her window and rolled to a stop against the far wall. 

“Tony!” Pepper screamed in alarm. “What are you doing?!”

“Ms. Potts…” Felix started to shout as he rushed through the doorway, but as he entered, Tony shot fire from his chest and sent Felix flying back out into the hall.

“Tony!” Pepper shouted again. She pushed herself back into the corner, wide-eyed and shaking with fear.

"It's alright, Pep..." Tony started. He took a few steps towards her, but she pushed further away and held up a hand to keep him back.

“What’s _wrong_ with you?!”

Tony pointed to where Felix lay unconscious in the hall. “I was trying to protect you…”

"From what, Tony, making a good decision?"

Other servants began to arrive and looked from Felix to Tony. “What have you done, sir?” one asked.

Tony looked back to Pepper. “From Felix; he was going to hurt you.”

“Felix..." Pepper scoffed. "This is low, Tony, even for you. He was helping me pack.”

“Wait, you’re really leaving?”

Pepper pushed away from the corner, her fear turning to anger. “You threw Felix across a room and you’re going to ask me _that”_

“He was being controlled, Pep,” Tony tried to explain. “I was trying to save you.”

“The only person I need to be saved from is you, Tony.” Pepper pushed past him, went to Felix’s side, and took his hand. “Felix? Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

“I need… I need to…”

“What’s wrong with his eyes?” one of the servants asked.

Tony rushed over and pushed the man aside just as Felix’s eyes fluttered open, revealing a faint blue light that slowly faded away. Pepper shot a quick look to Tony before turning back to Felix.

“Felix?” she asked, cautiously this time.

“I’m sorry,” Felix answered tiredly. “I don’t know what happened.”

“You just need a little rest, alright?” Pepper told him. When he nodded and shut his eyes again, Pepper turned to the servants and made orders for Felix’s care. Then she stepped back into the bedroom. “Tony, come with me.”

He complied and she shut the door behind them. “What happened to Felix,” Pepper asked quietly and with business-like control.

“He was thralled.”

“By whom?”

“Some Northern god named Loki.” Pepper watched him for a long moment, possibly judging if he telling the truth. Tony knew the look well. “I’m telling the truth, Pepper. I can’t make this stuff up. Well, I can… but honestly, would I bother?”

“What does he want with Felix?” Pepper asked after another moment.

"Nothing; he was proving a point."

"Why?"

“He wants me to stay out of the North.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m Iron Man?”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a name I’m trying out; you know what… never mind. It doesn’t matter,” Tony answered with a wave of his hand. “He told me to stay here and not get involved or else something would happen to you.”

“I see.”

“So… I’m going to go up North and get involved.”

“I… had a feeling you would say that, Tony.”

“He needs to be stopped.”

“I imagine so.”

“He could have killed you.”

“I know, I was there,” Pepper answered. “He’s afraid of you, isn’t he? This god.”

“I think so…”

“Well… then he’s not stupid, so be careful.”

Tony stepped closer to her. “You understand why I have to go, right?”

“Just come home in one piece, Tony.”

“That’s not an answer. Will you be here when I get back?”

Pepper let out a breath and looked at his eyes. “Are you going because he needs to be stopped or are you going because he threatened me?”

"It’s the same thing, Pep. I need to find this guy. You gotta stay safe. That’s all I know.”

She lowered her eyes for just a moment. It was another look Tony knew well; he’d given the wrong answer.

“Be safe, Tony. Come home in one piece,” Pepper said. Then she stepped past him and went back out into the hallway.

***

It was late when Nat and Sharon walked into the tavern. They'd spent the day organizing villagers and preparing them as best they could. They would never be an army, but at least they wouldn't be helpless. If they could hold the will to fight, that was.

Only a handful of villagers remained at the tables, all looking as exhausted as Nat felt. Clint was sitting in the far corner, so she ordered a drink, left Sharon to chat with the owner, and then went to join Clint.

"We got a lot done in the village today," Nat said as she sat down. "I feel a little better about their chances now. What about you?"

Clint nodded, but said nothing at first. He had driven the tip of Phil's knife into the table and was spinning it absentmindedly between his fingers, carving a divot out of the wood as he did. "What do you think he's doing to Phil right now?"

"Nothing," Nat answered immediately. She refused to imagine the possibilities.

"It's all I can think about," he said.

"Want me to knock you out so you can sleep?"

Clint cast a sideways glance, but then returned to his knife-spinning. "Thanks, but I'll be alright."

"The new defenses look good, but there's still a lot more we can do," Nat continued.

"Your friend had some good ideas. I can see what you mean about him being useful."

"I never even saw him today," Nat said. "I think he spent the whole day in the fields with you."

"Well, yeah..." Clint answered.

"What do you, 'well yeah'?"

Clint looked up with a bit of surprise. "Thought you knew - he's not allowed in the village."

"Excuse me?"

"Look," Clint said, raising his hand in mock surrender. "I didn't press for details, but he told me he's not allowed in. They don't trust him."

"They use him, they depend on him… but they don't trust him?"

"Like I said, I didn't press for details. We just focused on the work – he came up with some really cool designs. You should see these new traps, Nat."

But Nat wasn't listening; she'd already stood up and was heading back towards Sharon.

"Why isn't Bruce allowed in the village?" she asked.

"Who's Bruce?" the tavern owner asked.

"She means the freak," one of the villagers answered.

A deadly calm settled over Nat. Her pre-Shield self would have thrown the drunken idiot out of a window for insulting her new friend. Instead, she channeled her inner Coulson and decided to give the man a chance to explain himself first.

"Freak?" she asked.

"Nice guy and all, but you can't let something like that around the children, you know?"

"No, I don't know. Why don't you explain it to me?" Nat asked with such a dangerous tone that Clint got up and got between her and the villagers. "What are you doing?" she asked him.

"Nothing, just making sure you remember that we're here to protect them."

"I don't think I'm the one who needs to remember that."

"Everyone just settle down," Sharon said firmly.

"Look, lady..." the tavern owner started.

"Do not call me 'lady.'"

"Sorry..." the man said, hesitating at Nat’s tone before continuing. “Look, it's just... you know what he is, right?

"Yes, I know who he is. It's you people who don't seem to." Nat moved past Clint so they could all see her.

"You're new here, Agent," Sharon said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're _new_ here. Things are not simple."

"Things are never simple. You should know that better than anyone," Nat answered.

"I do, which is why I know it’s not as simple as just letting Bruce back into the village."

Nat shook her head in disgust. "You should be ashamed of yourself. With everything he's done for you, the least you could do you is treat him like he belongs."

"But he doesn't belong, that's the thing," the tavern owner pressed. "Due respect, ma'am, but you're still thinking about him like he's human and he's not. He's a monster."

"He's not a monster."

"Sorry lady, but he is," one of the drunks answered hotly. "Wishing don't make it no different."

Clint put a hand on her shoulder. "Nat, he's drunk. Leave him be."

But the drunk didn't seem interested in leaving it be; he got up and walked over to them. "You Romans always think you got everything right, like you know better about everything. But you don't, do you?"

"Callum..." the tavern owner warned.

"No, no... first they come to attack us, then they come to save us, but they don't care about us or this land, they just want to be right. Freak's no different, with all of his books and things..."

"He's trying to help you," Nat said through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, yeah..." Callum answered. "Cause we're all helpless, right? We need the great Romans to save us..."

"That's enough, Callum, go home." The tavern owner put his arms around the man and started moving him towards the door. He turned back to Nat with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, he lost his family a few years back."

"Get off me, Taran!" Callum shouted. "Best thing the freak ever did was crush them Romans; teach 'em to stick their big ugly noses around. But lady's missing the point - something like that, that can do that to his own people? Can't trust it around us. Can't trust it around the kids."

Clint turned Nat so she faced him. "Wait, Bruce killed Vitellius and the team?"

"Sure did!" Callum answered as he started miming stomping. "Like bugs. Served 'em right."

"Enough! Out, Callum!" Taran shoved him roughly into the streets and then turned back to Nat to Clint. "Again, I'm sorry. He's just angry and drunk."

"He killed the team?" Clint repeated to her. "Were you going to tell me that little part?"

"He didn't mean to."

"Nat..." Clint said, stepping back with an admonishing look. "Seriously, what's with you and this guy? You're awfully quick to defend him."

"He needs it."

"Why? He's killed people."

"Why did you defend me?"

Clint's face softened as he looked at her. "This is different, Nat," he said quietly, but firmly.

"No, it’s not."

"Are you sure?"

Nat didn't have to respond - she was as sure as she was of anything in her life and her face told him that. Clint nodded after a moment and looked to Sharon as she came to join them.

"Can you explain what happened?" he asked her.

"Yes," Sharon answered with resignation. “But I don’t think it will change much.”

***

The moon was setting when Nat made her way across the moor. Her cloak kept snagging against the brush but even still, she was too hot to pull it closer against her shoulders – too angry.

Those villagers were a piece of work. Nat knew their type well – desperate for help but judgmental about the kind they received. She had protected people like them before and likely would again, but that duty never lessened the sting of hate and fear she faced every time the conflict was over.

It always happened the same way, too; once one monster was gone, people would look for another - and anyone fit enough to fight a monster had to be one, right? It was part of why Coulson kept them moving as often as he did. The team would show up, fight, and disappear as much to protect themselves as Shield's secrecy.

It was something Nat lived with and took in stride. She'd practically been born into this life and knew her lot was not to be loved, only feared. She'd made peace with that a long time ago.

But Bruce had not. This wasn't his world – he was a man of learning, not fighting. He’d been served a raw deal but despite it, was still trying to do the right thing. The village didn't deserve someone like him. 

And Sharon of all people should have known better than to keep using him.

After hearing Sharon's story, Nat's first conversation with Bruce made more sense. She had a better idea of what Bruce had endured these past few months and why he'd given up on himself. The story had been so tragically familiar; it could have been her own. Even Clint had recognized it for what it was and with a single glance, let her know he'd follow her lead when it came to Bruce from then on.

Bruce had tried living in the village when he'd first arrived. The villagers would come running for him when the giants showed and then the other guy would go running across the fields after them - the other guy always looked heroic from a distance.

Sharon was able to help considerably once she joined them. She organized the tunnels and traps and made everyone feel even safer. It was a relatively good time for all.

But that changed when Vitellius arrived.

Sharon had thought he was there to help and trusted him too quickly. It wasn't until weeks later when she found Bruce drugged and guarded in one of the tunnels that she confronted Vitellius on his real mission.

Vitellius had been sent by the Emperor himself to find and build him an army of controllable giants, a task with which Loki was all too happy to help. He wanted only one thing in exchange for the giants – Bruce, dead.

But Vitellius was not stupid and saw opportunity of his own. He tried to recruit Bruce and when that failed, decided to press Bruce into service. He and Sharon argued and though she was positive she’d convinced Vitellius to leave Bruce alone, Vellandua overheard them and panicked. He summoned Loki and everything went south quickly after that.

Loki took advantage of Bruce's drugged state. He thralled half of the town, including Sharon, and sent them to kill Bruce and the team.

The agents tried to protect Bruce. They got him as far as their outpost and prepared to defend, but when he woke, still bound, and saw the villagers attacking… Bruce had misunderstood what was happening and let the other guy free.

Seeing the other guy’s savagery up close had left the villagers terrified of their great protector. They agreed to hide him if and when the Emperor sent a team to investigate, but they could barely work the courage to stand near him. He was forced out onto the moor – needed, used... but sure as Tartarus not wanted.

Sharon hadn’t needed to explain any more to Nat after that. Nat knew intimately the guilt Bruce was feeling. She knew the blood he saw on his hands and the debts he wrote in his mental ledger; she knew the desire to end things despite the compulsion to carry on…

She knew those things better than anyone and she knew he deserved better than the torment they brought.

Nat was still trying to figure out what she'd say to Bruce when she reached his little dwelling. She hadn't actually thought this part out after leaving the village. She wasn't good with emotional stuff; she didn't know what made people 'feel better.' Should she tell him what she knew? Tell him what she'd done that was so similar? Should she get drunk with him? Sleep with him? Bring him home like Coulson had done for her? 

Luckily, she was spared that initial awkwardness. Bruce was sleeping outside in his little chair when she found him. He was clutching her necklace as if he’d been thinking of her.

She wondered briefly if she should wake him but after a moment realized that wasn’t likely what he – or she - needed right then. Instead, Nat went in the home and brought out a chair to set next to him. When he woke in the morning, he'd find her next to him and hopefully realize he wasn't alone anymore.

Neither of them were.

He stirred when she settled into the chair.

“Widow?” he asked sleepily.

“Everything’s fine, Bruce,” she answered. “Go back to sleep.”

Bruce rolled slightly towards her and nodded with still-closed eyes. He reached across to hand her the necklace. “Widow, you should take this back; you need it...”

“Shhh…” she said as she took his hand in her lap and closed his fingers back over the pendant. “And you can call me Natasha.”

“Natasha…” he answered sleepily.

She fell asleep still holding his hand.

***

The Jötenheim was a wasteland of frozen ground. It was almost impossible for Phil to believe anything could live there, let alone an entire race of giants. Over the course of a day's ride, he'd seen no place even remotely habitable. Nothing grew and nothing moved save for the wind and swirling snows. It was the definition of desolate.

Which was just fine with him. Phil was in no hurry to see any giants. In fact, the very thought of marching into a giant stronghold filled him with enough terror to paralyze him. He was sure he wouldn’t be moving forward at all if he hadn’t been given a war horse to ride upon. 

But Thor and his warriors rode proudly forward as if such fears were irrational. They moved in a light formation and kept watch of the horizons. It was clear to Phil they'd moved across this terrain before and were wary as a result, but still confidant of their ability to handle any danger.

As the end of the day approached, however, Phil started to notice the warriors exchanging looks; they knew something was wrong but they were unwilling to question their leader’s course. Phil took a soldier's guess at what was spooking them.

"We're deep into their territory, aren't we? They should have attacked us by now?"

"Be quiet," Thor answered without looking back.

"My prince..." one of the warriors started.

"I said, be quiet!" Thor answered. "They may be lying in wait. If they are ready, so must we be."

Phil looked out across the desolate ground and knew there was nowhere for any living thing to hide. "I don't think..." he started to say, but all four warriors turned to look at him with warning stares. Phil took the hint and shut his mouth; Thor was still determined to proceed and it would do no good to press the issue just yet. It was enough for Phil to know that the other warriors were as observant and concerned as he. 

The group rode in silence until they reached the rocky cliffs at the far end of the tundra. Only there did Thor seem to hesitate. Hand on sword hilt, he scanned the cliff face, but nothing there seemed to move.

"My prince?" one of the warriors dared.

Thor shook his head and the female warrior stepped to him. "Thor," she said quietly. "There is treachery here. Shall we send word back to the All Father?"

"No."

"But Thor..."

"I said no, Sif," Thor answered firmly. "Not until we know why."

"Why what? What's wrong here?" Phil asked cautiously. The warriors looked collectively toward Thor. When no answer came, the largest of the warriors turned to Phil.

"We have marched..."

"Volstagg..." Thor warned.

"My prince, he has come this far, he has a right to know," Volstagg answered. When Thor said nothing more, Volstagg turned back to Phil. "We have come to the very heart of the Jötenheim, human, but we have not yet encountered a single Jötun... Whatever has happened to this world, it is grave indeed."

"Could they have moved to another location?” Phil asked.

"This mountain is the home of their king," Volstagg answered. "They would not surrender it."

"No, they would not," Thor answered. Gripping his hammer tightly, he stepped forward into a large cave opening. The others moved to follow, but Volstagg pulled Phil back.

“I could not help but notice your bracelet, human. It is from Svartalfheim, is it not?”

“Uhh…” Phil stammered, unsure. “Would it be a good thing if it was?”

“Has Loki given it to you?”

“No, Queen Frigga.”

Volstagg studied him for a long moment. “You are a pawn in a great game, human.”

Phil shrugged. “Usually.”

Phil expected Volstagg to glower at the smart-assed reply, but instead, Volstagg laughed a great belly laugh. “I had doubts about your size, human, but now I see your pair.”

“That’s… not as flattering sounding as I think you think it is.”

Volstagg clapped him on the back with enough force to make Phil stumble. “If my Queen has seen fit to arm you, than she must indeed think highly of you.”

“Arm me?”

“Are you so ignorant?” he asked. Getting no answer from Phil. Volstagg tapped the bracelet gently. “The blacksmith dwarves of Svartalfheim weave dark magic into their metals. Through this, my Queen has no doubt given you power enough to chart the very course of Asgard, should you choose to use it.”

“Wow… that’s…” Phil said, shocked and struggling to think of the right thing to say.

“An affront to Thor,” Volstagg answered for him. “It suggests the Queen does not trust him to resolve this matter; at least, not alone.”

“I just thought she fixed my arm…”

“Be careful in your choices, human. More is being asked of you than you realize.” Volstagg answered with a slightly amused smile. “What is your name?”

“Phil Coulson.”

Volstagg nodded. “For good or ill, I will remember that.”

With nothing more than a shared look, they joined the others in the cave. Sif had lit a torch and was scanning the cave walls. “There are no recent signs of battle,” she announced.

“My prince, if I may, the All Father should be updated on our progress,” one of the warriors said.

“I need you here, Fandral.”

“Of course, my prince. I was volunteering Hogun…” Hogun punched him on the shoulder in response and Fandral feigned indignation. It reminded Phil instantly of Nat and Clint and put him a little bit at ease. A little bit…

“I need you both here,” Thor answered firmly.

“Always at your call, my prince!” Fandral answered. “What are your orders?”

“We search this mountain until we find the jötnar.”

“And then…?”

“That will depend on what we find, Fandral,” Thor answered. He cast a defiant glimpse back at Phil and then moved deeper into the cave

Phil admired and pitied him in equal measure. A brother’s loyalty was a powerful thing indeed, especially among the gods. That Phil was literally wearing evidence of his mother’s doubts surely could not help matters, either. Thor's need to defend his brother was likely growing and he would no doubt fight all the harder to clear Loki's name.

Between him and the giants, Phil honestly wasn’t sure who’d he’d rather fight. ‘No gods this time, no funny business.’ Clint had said… Yeah, good call on that, Clint.

Phil tightened his helmet a little more and followed the warriors deeper into the mountain, past evidence of the heavy resistance they should have met. Phil noticed empty openings that were undoubtedly sentry posts and, deeper in, posts for larger contingents. Icy spears and swords lay at the ready in small groupings, as if abandoned.

Before long, they reached the opening to an enormous cavern. The warriors pulled their weapons and scanned the space. Phil stepped up to join them and immediately felt his heart begin to race.

Dozens of dead or unconscious giants lay on the cavern floor; a hundred or so other giants stood motionless just beyond them, watching the warriors through dull, blue-tinted gazes.

“Thralled…” Volstagg said quietly.

"That does not mean Loki has done this," Thor answered.

Sif stepped to him, her wide eyes still scanning the room. "My prince, we must alert the All Father."

"I will not return without proof of who has done this."

"You know who has done this," Phil said, the denials becoming too much for him. "We should leave before he wakes them.”

"I will not be tricked against my brother! Show me proof that this is his work and not some... other sorcery."

"Thor..."

"No, Sif. I will not lose my faith in him the way you all have. I know what you think of him, I know you already believe this is his work... but I will not turn on him."

"Even if he brings war to Asgard?" Volstagg asked hotly.

"You have no proof this is Loki's doing."

"Who else can manage such sorcery, my prince?" Volstagg answered. "

"Freya? Bragi?"

"The poet...?" Volstagg asked with amused surprise. "My prince, of those who could, who _would_? Only your brother."

Thor shook his head. "Until Loki admits as much to me, I will not believe it."

"Oh my dear brother," a voice boomed across to them. "You fill my heart with both warmth and pity." They turned to watch as Loki strode toward them across the cavern floor. As he approached, he waved his scepter and the giants began to move in unison.

Phil's heart began to beat too quickly; pressure was building painfully in his head and he was sweating too much to keep a tight grip on his sword. There were giants everywhere and the panic was getting difficult to control. Phil tried to chide himself - he'd stared down hydra, cyclops, and an army of the dead before without blinking an eye; giants should be nothing... but the panic was unabating. The fear cut to his core.

When Phil looked to Volstagg, he saw that the warriors had all dropped into defensive positions; only Phil stood out like he was unprepared to fight, so he quickly dropped into a position of his own. Loki watched him, and smiled as if he'd just caught Phil's weakness.

Damnit.

"I am touched, brother," Loki said, turning back. "But you once again betray your greatest weakness."

"And what is that, Loki?"

"You have always been blinded by love,” he answered. “For me, for Father... It's adorable, really."

"What have you done here, Loki?" Thor asked through clenched teeth.

"What you have not. I have conquered this world and soon I will take another."

"Why, brother? The jötnar were no threat to Asgard."

"It is not about active threats, brother, it is about rule," Loki answered with a sneer. "I took this world without an army. They needed to be ruled! For their own safety! I am doing them a favor."

"This is an act of war. It is treason!" Sif shouted.

Loki waved his scepter and the thralled giants moved to quickly surround the team. Thor raised his hand to steady the warriors. "There is no reason to do this, Loki."

"There is every reason to do this! You have everything handed to you, Thor. Power, women, land... and someday Father will just _hand_ you the throne."

"It is his birthright," Hogun answered.

"And it will be the death of Asgard," Loki said. "You are no king, Thor. The jötnar grow in number. Even the humans have an army that controls half of their world... and what do you do? You hunt. You feast. You wait for everything to be handed to you." Loki advanced and stood close enough to hold his scepter within an inch of Thor's chest. "But now Father will see who the real heir should be. I will be king, Thor, because I am _able_ to rule." 

"This is not rule," Thor said firmly.

“And what will you do about it, Thor?” Loki asked. "I am not going to hand over my jötun army…”

Loki waved his scepter and then disappeared. A moment later, he reappeared on a ridge across from them and moved to stand beside a motionless jötun seated in an icy throne.

“I will conquer Midgard, Thor, and then I will conquer each of the remaining worlds. The only thing left undetermined is what you will do in response.”

“I will stop you.”

“That is not one of your options, I’m afraid,” Loki answered. “You and your little band of warriors can fight my army and die or, you can stand down now. Relinquish your claim to the throne and I will let you return to Asgard intact. I will even allow you to live out your life in the type of comfort you now enjoy. Everything will be handed to you, Thor, same as it always has been.”

Phil watched the warriors tense, regrip their weapons, and clench their teeth. It was clear they were willing to fight, but Thor seemed to relax. He even lowered his hammer to his side and stared calmly up at his brother.

“I have no wish to fight you, brother,” Thor said. “But conquest is not rule.”

“Of course it is, Thor!” Loki spat. “You’re just too weak to understand that.”

“Father does not rule like this. _He_ is not weak.”

“Of course he is!” Loki shouted. “He wanders around the palace like an imbecile in an open robe. He pampers you and mother while armies mass at the border! Even Heimdall stands mute while dangers flood the universe around us - too weak to challenge Father and his flaccid policies. What kind of rule is that, Thor?”

“Father knows what he is doing.”

“Father will see Asgard burn. _I_ will keep the armies at bay. _I_ will protect the citizens of Asgard.”

“Through slavery and the conquest of innocents?” Thor asked.

“Through _rule_ …” Loki answered harshly. “There are nine realms, Thor. Eight worlds stand against Asgard.”

Thor shook his head. “Stand _with_ Asgard, Loki. The worlds are not at odds.”

“Naïve,” Loki answered. “Again, you wait for things to be handed to you. Again, you’d rather sit and feast and wait for trouble to find you. When you fail to bring the worlds under control, you fail to protect Asgard, Thor. I will not make that mistake.” 

“You will never get the chance to, Loki,” Thor answered as he tightened his grip on the hammer. “You are my brother and I love you, but I will not relinquish my claim nor will I allow to continue on your present course.”

“You cannot stop me, Thor.”

Loki waved his scepter again and a portal opened at the far end of the cavern. The majority of jötun began making their ways towards it while the others started their attack on Thor’s warriors.

The team responded instantly. They charged into the cavern and attacked the jötun with ferocity worthy of the gods. With practiced precision, they weaved in and among the giants, slashing and then ducking away. 

Phil tried to join them. He pulled his sword and went to follow the others, but his limbs would not comply; he was rooted to the place as if his muscles had rebelled against the very notion of self-preservation.

His heartbeat began pounding so loudly in his ears that Phil could hear little else. His vision started to grey at the periphery and Phil knew his panic was taking him. Finally, when he looked up and saw a giant charging straight for him, his mind went blank – all of his training and experience were gone in an instant. It was as if he was once again that rookie soldier facing death in an unknown land and for a brief moment, it was real again - he could smell the fir trees mixed with the stench of giant sweat; he could hear the guard captain shouting to him.

Phil stared numbly as the giant raised its enormous fist and though he knew this would be the end, Phil found he couldn’t even look away…

Volstagg tackled him to the ground as the giant lashed out. Then he swung his mighty axe at the giant and severed its hand before following the momentum back around to severe its head. Volstagg turned back to Phil and shook him by the shoulders.

"Son of Coul!" he said. "You must fight!"

But Phil could not respond. His mind was back in those woods watching the chaos of giants stomping their way through his squadron and crushing his friends. Volstagg flicked his eyes to Phil's bracelet and then looked away with a disappointed grimace. He marched Phil roughly back against the cavern wall.

"Then stay out of the way," he said harshly before charging back into the chaos.

Phil stared out into the cavern and the mighty battle taking place without seeing any of it. He couldn’t even register that in the far distance, giants were making their way through the portal and out into another world. His world...

***

Clint spent a difficult night in the tavern – Phil’s things reminding him of the loss and sending him spiraling into a void of recrimination and longing. He'd had to begin patrolling before dawn just to stay sane. Nothing he'd experienced in his life was as frustrating as knowing that Phil was being held in a place he could not reach.

He checked the traps in the field – again – and was still working on them when Nat and Bruce arrived. There was something different about them, some subtle change he didn't want to think about it. It made him think of Phil for some reason.

He was still not thinking about it when Stark crashed into the field beside them.

"Stark," Nat said in dry greeting.

"Agent," he answered. "Miss me?"

"No."

Stark chuckled and reached a hand to Bruce. "Who are you?"

"Uh... Bruce Banner," he answered, reluctantly taking the hand.

"Banner? I know your work, don't I?"

Bruce shrugged with an embarrassed grimace. "You could say that; you've built enough of it."

"And there was quite a bit I couldn't build, if I remember correctly. You know," Stark continued. "I have a villa down South with ten out-buildings just for research and design. You should come visit. It's like a playground."

"I, uh... don't tend to do well around others."

Stark shrugged. "Maybe you just haven't been around the right others yet."

"And you're the right kind of 'other' for him to be around, Stark?" Sharon asked as she and Steve joined them.

"Yes," Stark answered simply.

Bruce shared a look with Nat. "Yeah, well... one thing at a time. We have things to settle here first... and sooner rather than later," he added when a flock of birds fell dead not thirty feet from them.

Clint spotted the portal before anyone else – a slight movement in the distance like air rippling above a fire. Grabbing his gear, Clint took off running for it before anyone else could even react. He had only one thought on his mind: a portal meant a way to Phil...

Giants poured through and started running across the fields. Clint heard Sharon's shouts to the villagers and then the roar of Bruce's green monster, but he didn't look back. He kept his eyes locked on the portal even as he launched a flurry of arrows towards the oncoming horde. When they were close enough to reach for him, Clint dodged and evaded. He slipped past each of the giants and leaped blindly into the portal.

***

Screaming and chaos. Soldiers running through the wood. Phil could taste acid in his mouth and smell blood. He had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. He was lost and all was dark...

But perhaps his mind had not fully abandoned him. Despite everything he was seeing and hearing, he knew something was wrong – more wrong than what was happening to his Guard brethren, that was. There was something _wrong_... he knew it.

He looked up from the chaos and saw Loki standing calmly at the wood line. Loki... why was Loki in these woods?

Loki turned suddenly and Phil followed his eye line towards a distant portal and a man who had forced his way through. The man carried a bow and was shooting feverishly at targets in every direction.

The moment Phil saw him, the woods started to melt away and Phil remembered he was in a cavern. The Jötunheim. Phil was on the Jötenheim in an alien stronghold with Thor.

And Clint was there.

And Loki had spotted him.

When Loki disappeared from his ridge and reappeared next to Clint, it was as if a bell rang in Phil's head to force clarity and total focus there. He stood and raced into the chaos with a new found power that seemed to flow through him. He didn't register the giants as he passed them. Instead, Phil made use of two good, strong arms for the first time in decades and slashed at giant limbs wherever they broke his line of sight. No barrier, no giant so much as slowed Phil as raced ahead.

He moved as a man who could not be stopped, his eyes focused completely on Loki and Clint. He watched Clint fell first one giant and then another all without seeing Loki approach from behind. Instead, Clint was scanning the cavern, searching until he saw Phil.

"Phil!" he shouted.

"Behind you!" Phil shouted back.

Clint spun in place but Loki was too quick. He placed the tip of his scepter against Clint's chest and Phil could see Clint's eyes turn blue even from distance.

Phil's heart beat like a drum in his chest, but this time, it was a driving beat - pushing him forward. He raced towards Clint, moving over, under, or even through the giants in his path. Nothing would slow him down.

Not even Clint shooting at him.

***

"Stark! Get up high and draw as many of them away from the village as you can," Steve shouted. "Sharon will coordinate the villagers and traps; Widow, I need you with me."

"What are we going to do?" Nat asked.

"Help the big guy."

Bruce's green hulk had already charged across the field to hit the giants head on, but there were dozens more of the creatures than he would ever be able to face.

"How?" Nat asked as they started sprinting up the field.

"We’ll lure them to the traps and take out the ones we can."

"Bait. You want us to be bait?"

"We already are, Widow..."

Nat couldn't argue with that and it was usually the plan, anyway, except that that plan usually also involved Clint. She was going to have some serious words with him when he got back. What was he thinking running off like that?

The hulk had torn his way through three giants and had been swarmed by half a dozen more by the time the pair arrived. Nat peppered the scrum with Stark's little bombs, distracting the giants enough to give the hulk the upper hand. Roaring in victory, the hulk tore his way through the group and threw the last body back towards the portal in open challenge. Several giants responded and veered back towards him.

Nat tried to find where the hulk had dropped the ore, but she just couldn't see it among the crops and the tall grain. There was no time for a thorough search, either; a pair of giants lunged for her and she threw her little bombs to drive them back. Then, pulling her knives, she quickly climbed the closest giant and ended it before jumping across to fell its partner.

Looking up, Nat could see that Steve had dropped a pair of giants as well and Stark was being chased by several more. It was clear the team would be able to do some serious damage and maybe even stop the horde, given enough time... but the villagers didn't have that kind of time. At least fifteen giants had already slipped past them and were nearing the village. Nat could hear Sharon shouting for them to hold, but the villagers were running away in droves. Sharon had maybe three or four men still standing with her at the traps – they would never be able to handle the horde.

"Stark," Nat shouted. "Leave them to us – get back to the village!"

Stark wheeled in midair and fired at the chasing group, lighting the first several on fire and causing the rest of the pack to scatter. " _You_ head to the village! I got this."

"You can get back to the village faster than any of us. Look!" she shouted, pointing back to Sharon. "They need you; get back there!"

Stark saw where she pointed and changed direction to fly towards the portal.

"Stark, no! Get to the village! Hold that!"

"I'm going after Loki; that'll end this."

Nat slashed her way through another giant and tossed a little bomb to cross in front of Stark's face. He pulled up and stared at her with as angry a look as she'd ever seen.

"What the gods are you doing? I can end this."

"It won't matter if the village falls. Help them."

"We can't hold this. We don't have the fire power."

Nat threw a knife into the eye of a charging giant and started to run for it. "We'll hold what we can," she said as she climbed the giant to end it and retrieve her knife. "We'll get Loki another time, those children need you now!"

Nat heard Stark curse under his breath, but he took off towards the village. She turned in time to watch a giant fist slam into her. Crashing heavily through the dirt, Nat rolled in time to avoid the charging giant's stomping feet and then started to run. Zigging and zagging through the grain, she dodged its grasping hand until something tripped her and she crashed again. She threw the last of her little bombs up at the giant, driving it back just enough to give her the space to stand up and ready her knives.

But then she saw that she'd tripped over - Bruce's box of ore - and her plan changed instantly. She scooped it up and ran past the still flailing giant. She could see that the hulk was struggling from his knees to fight four giants who had surrounded him and Nat knew she couldn't waste time waiting for him. Giants were still pouring through the portal and the odds of their team winning were rapidly dwindling. So she steeled herself to end this and started running towards Steve.

"A little help, Cap!" she shouted as she approached.

Steve looked up to her and then to the wall of giants that stood between her and the portal. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it'll be fun," she answered dryly.

Steve nodded once and braced his shield for her. When she jumped on it, he used his strength to help launch her into the air and over the bulk of the giant horde in her way. Rolling when she hit the ground, Nat came up running and sprinted for the portal.

The hulk had seen her, though. He roared in desperation as he fought with the last of his attackers.

"I know, big guy, I know..." she said to herself as she ran. "But we're out of time."

Nat evaded the oncoming giants, passed the dead birds, and crossed onto the swatch of dead grass knowing she was close. She went to open the latch on the lead box...

An arrow flew through the portal and shot squarely through her hand. Nat stared at it in shock, not comprehending what had just happened. A second arrow pierced her shoulder and Nat's reflexes kicked in. She dove and rolled to her side and tried to take what cover she could among the grain. Working the latch off the box, Nat went to throw it back towards the portal, hoping that be enough to close it, but a third arrow pierced her side and she fell back in a heap.

The hulk roared with deafening rage and charged the portal, carrying two still-fighting giants on his back. His momentum only seemed to grow as he charged and sprinted at full speed through the portal with a final roar of challenge to whatever lay beyond.

From where she lay, Nat watched him disappear and hoped for all of the world that Clint wasn't the one who'd shot her. If it had been, then things had turned truly desperate. If there was ever a time for Phil to pull off one of his last minute miracles, now was that time.

Nat staggered to her feet and looked at the blood pouring down her side. Her head was swimming from the blood loss, but still, she looked up and searched for Steve. She watched a giant hurl him across the field and when he staggered to his feet, watched him be struck again by another giant fist.

Forgetting all about the box of ore – forgetting just about everything except for the giants - Nat twirled her knife into a better grip and stagger-ran towards him.

She'd buy Phil a little more time.

***

The first giants hit the traps and were slain in an instant, but more than a dozen bypassed and went straight for the village. Tony hit the stragglers at the back of the group and watched them fall at the fence line, but he knew it wasn't going to matter much. The rest of the horde was heading in a single direction – towards the tunnels.

"Stark! A little help here?" he heard Sharon call to him. Looking down, he saw her racing after him with drawn sword. He swooped down, lifted her into the air, and then dropped her squarely onto a racing giant. It fell after a quick swipe and Sharon leaped from it to another to continue her attack.

Leaving her to fight, Stark flew to the front of the horde and cast a wide swath of fire that forced them to scatter away from the tunnel entrance. The giants crashed through building after building, reducing the whole area to rubble, but Stark simply hovered where he was. There was no way the tunnels would endure the weight of all these giants – he had to stop them from getting past.

He blast fire into the face of every giant who charged him and kept them distracted enough for Sharon to attack from behind. Between the two of them, they dropped five giants before the horde got smarter about their attack.

Part of a stone wall was hurled at Tony and he narrowly avoided the boulders, but it was a coordinated attack and when Tony juked, he flew right into the path of another boulder thrown from the opposite direction. It clanged loudly off of his armor and sent him spiraling to the ground.

One of the armored tubes had been breached by the blow and the exposed fire burned his leg, forcing Tony to shed part of his suit. He kicked back into the air with only one armored leg and struggled to keep his balance and momentum.

Looking down, he watched Sharon slash another giant's throat, but not before it grabbed her and hurled her away with the last of its considerable strength. She crashed heavily through a thatched roof and when she didn't immediately reappear, Tony knew things were as bad as they were likely to get. There were still seven giants and only him with half his armor to challenge them.

Tony knew he should have gone after Loki, but as he dropped back to the ground, Tony realized he could just make out the sounds of children crying in the tunnels below. His mind stilled as he realized just how vulnerable they were. In that moment, he was the only one who could help them... and there was no way he’d be able to do it with his armor in its dilapidated state.

He had only two options: save himself or save the kids, which really meant that he had only one option.

Tony hoped Pepper would understand. This was a line he needed to hold even if it wasn't for him or her. For the first time in his life, Tony understood the right thing to do.

"You were right, Pep," he said to himself as he closed his eyes and let his mind drift to memories of her. He remembered how freely she used to smile before any of this had come between them. He remembered the sound of her laughter as clearly as if she was standing next to him. He remembered the feel of her skin against his own and allowed himself to pretend the warmth building in his chest was the feel of her embrace.

Tony was content to live in that memory for eternity.

Shedding the last of his armor, Tony stood on the tunnel's entrance and let the power build in his chest to a degree he'd never yet felt. It thrummed through his whole body and he wondered briefly if this was why Vulcan had let him live; for this moment, this final stand when Tony Stark changed from purveyor of death to sacrificial protector.

When Tony let the fire explode from him, it vaporized the giants and leveled several buildings.

***

No one knew Clint's abilities better than Phil and he used that knowledge to his fullest advantage. He dodged and faked his movements, forcing Clint to miss his shots more times than he'd done in his entire life. Arrows aimed at Phil landed instead in the giants Phil passed or careened harmlessly away off the cavern ground.

Phil liked to think there was also some small part of the archer still in control, forcing the misses, but he couldn't take the chance and dwell on it too much. Instead, he focused on slashing and dodging his way forward, determined to reach Clint before any more damage could be done.

As Phil closed the distance, he started to use the giants to block Clint – and Loki's – line of sight. But even still, it wasn't until Clint turned and started firing through the portal that he was able to make his move. Phil jumped up out of the chaos, tackled the distracted archer, and rolled him down a steep incline.

Clint was the younger, stronger man but Phil had more years’ experience in fighting dirty. He feigned weakness in his arm and when Clint underestimated it, Phil flipped him over and sent him bowling into a cavern wall. No sooner had he done so than an enormous green monster burst through the portal and into the cavern. Like a charging elephant, the beast leaped into the fray and started pummeling the jötnar.

Phil saw Loki stare at the beast in shock and got to his feet. Using the moment of surprise, Phil jumped for the petty god and reached for the scepter.

The moment Phil got his hand on the scepter, the jötnar stopped fighting and turned to watch. This time, Loki used the surprise to flip Phil. They crashed to the ground and rolled, but Phil would be damned if he'd let go of the scepter. Perhaps literally. He reset his grip and tried to rake at Loki's face with his free hand.

"You can't win, human. Let it go!" Loki hissed into Phil's ear.

"Take it from me, you son of a bitch."

Despite the threat, Phil knew it was a stalemate as neither man was going to give an inch on the scepter. He needed an edge and with his formerly weak arm started reaching for a rock or any kind of weapon he could find. Unable to see past Loki to where he was reaching, Phil willed himself to just find something – anything he could use to get an edge over Loki.

As if called, Thor's hammer flew across the cavern and landed squarely in Phil's outstretched palm. Without a moment's hesitation, Phil hurled it against Loki with all his might and sent him crashing into a cavern wall.

Phil stood with scepter in one hand and hammer in the other. Looking to Clint first, he saw the blue tint still in his eyes.

"Clint, can you hear me?"

"Yes," came the simple, compelled answer.

Then Phil looked out into the cavern and to the motionless horde watching him despite the green beast still tearing his way through them. Phil pointed the scepter at the beast and willed it to stop; it complied instantly and even seemed to hover in the air as if bound by an unseen force.

"Clint, what is that thing?"

"Nat's new boyfriend," Clint answered in monotone, thralled voice. It wasn't what Phil had expected to hear... but it was something he'd deal with it later.

"Son of Coul," Volstagg's voice cautioned, drawing Phil's attention to the battered warriors. They stared back with unmasked shock and Phil realized they were waiting for him to make a move. "How do you hold Mjölnir?"

"What?" Phil asked, but seeing only shocked looks in response, he decided he didn't actually care enough to wait for an answer and turned back to the portal. Everything was too still on the other side. Phil could see giant bodies littering the field, but could not see his team. He waved the scepter to recall the giants who had crossed over to here, but only a handful returned. Even though Phil couldn't see his team, he had to believe that if the majority of giants were dead, then at least some of his people were still alive. He had to believe it.

When the last of the giants crossed back, Phil waved the scepter again to bring the green beast floating back towards him and then cast him back through the portal. He wanted to follow, but Loki was still struggling to get to his feet and seeing him reminded Phil of his deal with Frigga. Loki would surely be executed for his crimes and Phil couldn’t allow that – not if he was to see Clint again in the Afterlife. So, turning back to Clint, Phil sighed heavily, hating what he was about to do.

“Go back through, Clint,” he said evenly, somehow. “Take care of the team and tell Nat… I’m sorry.”

Clint stared at him for a moment and though no emotion showed on his thralled face, Phil knew he was fighting the control, otherwise he would have simply obeyed. Phil nodded his understanding and stepped closer, leaning in to whisper so only Clint could here. "It's alright, Clint. I'm going to make sure I see you again. But to do that, I need to stay. Do you understand?"

"No," Clint answered simply.

"Then just trust me; I'll find a way to get back to you. Now, go."

Clint nodded in compelled response as if receiving orders and stepped back through the portal.

Some ‘Champion of Love’ Phil was… he had no expectation he’d survive what he had to do next or be able to return home if he did and yet in that last moment spent with the man he loved more than anything – the man he’d died for, the man he’d been damned for… in that final moment, he’d let Clint walk away with nothing more than a final order. Anything else had seemed too hard to say, too much like actually saying goodbye.

And Phil had every intention of seeing Clint again, even if it was only in the Afterlife.

Phil watched Clint go and then waved the scepter again to break the thrall and close the portal. Jötun throughout the cavern collapsed unconscious to the floor and Phil marched to where Loki was struggling to stand.

"Do you yield?" Phil asked him.

"Yield? To you...?" Loki mocked through a bloody smile.

Phil pressed the hammer against Loki's chest, forced him back against the wall, and then raised the scepter towards his face. "Do you yield?" Phil repeated. He was in no mood for more games.

Loki hesitated still, but then dropped his eyes to the ground. "I yield, human."

"Then know my name is Coulson and that I have bested you," Phil answered. Before Loki could say anything more, Phil laid the scepter on the ground and shattered it with Thor's hammer.

He marched Loki down to the other warriors and held the hammer out towards Thor. "I'm sorry, here; I don't know how I ended up with this."

Thor reached to take it, but it fell from his grasp and landed on the ground with a hard thud, as if he'd been unable to hold its weight.

"Again, I'm sorry," Phil said, believing he'd clumsily dropped the hammer, but when Thor just stared at him with an astonished look, Phil started to grow uncomfortable. "Uh... ok, we should probably get out of here," Phil said to them. "This world was attacked; I can't imagine they'll just forgive and forget that once they wake up."

"Aye," Volstagg said. "Loki has started a war we will be forced to finish. You would have done well to leave them under thrall."

“And keep them slaves? Absolutely not. That would make us no better than Loki."

Volstagg nodded towards the bodies the green beast had left behind. "Your world is no longer innocent. They may come for it, too."

Phil shrugged. "Then we'll defend it, but I will not enslave an entire race out of fear."

"And that is why Mjölnir has chosen you," Thor added with what sounded like heartbreak in his voice.

"Who is Mjölnir?" Phil asked.

"The hammer," Thor answered. "I can no longer lift it."

"You're joking."

"Do I seem to be laughing, Son of Coul?"

Volstagg stepped to Phil. “Can you still lift Mjölnir?"

Phil couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was just a hammer, wasn't it? He reached down and picked the mighty weapon from the ground as if to show them it was no big deal. When Thor lowered his head and turned to walk solemnly away, Phil got the idea that perhaps it wasn't.

Phil followed the warriors out of the cavern and through a silent march back across the icy plain.

***

Nat dropped to her knees when the last group of giants stopped attacking and instead, headed back to the portal. She knew Phil must have done something – he always managed some miracle in the end – and so Nat didn't even question the turn of events; she just collapsed to the ground and let the exhaustion take her. 

Steve seemed to have much the same idea. He'd slung his shield back over his shoulder and was resting on his haunches, barely able to even look up at her while he caught his breath. The low rumble of giant footfalls forced her to look up, though.

The hulk leaned down and seemed to carefully look her over. With an enormous finger, he gently brushed her hair back as if searching for the source of the blood still trickling down her neck.

“I’m alright, big guy,” Nat said while weakly brushing away his hand. He grunted as if he didn’t believe her and then fingered the pool of blood that had bloomed beneath her. Turning her as gently as she figured a beast of his size could, he spotted the arrows sticking from her side and immediately scooped her into his palm.

"Hurt..." he rumbled. "Sharon help."

Holding Nat tightly against his chest, the hulk ran across the field towards the village.

And towards the traps.

Nat could see from her position that the few villagers who had remained behind to protect the village were still manning the traps. She could also see from this distance that they were watching the charging hulk with unmasked fear. When they tensed and lowered themselves into position, Nat knew they didn’t understand that he was just trying to bring her towards help; they only saw his fierce charge and meant to defend the village against him.

“Bruce, wait,” Nat tried to warn, but he kept running, either ignoring or not hearing her. “Bruce, the traps!” she pressed. The hulk looked down to her as understanding started to dawn on his face, but it was already too late.

He crashed into the first barrier – a thatch-covered ditch that caused him to stumble down towards buried spikes. The hulk knew what was coming, though, and curled his body as he fell to both protect Nat and let the spikes only graze his back.

But then the villagers stood and started firing their counter-balanced slings – the ones Bruce himself had designed. He curled even more tightly around Nat to protect her from the onslaught of stone projectiles. Nat felt every one of the strikes land against him as the force reverberated through him, but the hulk just clenched his jaw and held her.

Nat started to wiggle free of his grasp and reached for her knives. “Let me go, Bruce. I can stop them.”

“No,” the hulk rumbled in reply.

“Get off, Bruce. Let me help you.”

He took a blow to the head and Nat felt his grip weaken enough for her to scurry free. She climbed high enough above him to see the villagers and was about to shout when she saw Steve’s shield fly across the space and slice through one of the slings.

Steve was not running at full speed – his own injuries obviously having taken hold – but he charged straight into the line of fire and took a strike meant for the hulk. It knocked him clean off his feet and sent him sliding back towards Nat.

“Hold your fire!” Sharon shouted to the villagers as ran out towards them. She threw her sword and severed the ropes of one sling, but the last of the squad fired a final volley.

Nat had climbed out from under the hulk and stood in front of him as it sailed towards her. She didn’t have Steve’s strength - or even much of her own left – but she’d be damned if Bruce would take another hit for her. He'd been through enough. He didn't deserve this.

She readied herself to take the hit, but then javelin pieces sailed over her head and struck the largest of the boulders, shattering them so only smaller pieces were left to hit her. They knocked her down and she could feel a curious warmth spreading inside her chest, but oddly, it didn't hurt. Nothing did.

Turning back, Nat could see Clint give a little wave from his spot near the portal before he collapsed to his knees. Like him, her strength was gone. She struggled to keep her head up as she took stock of the team and their injuries. Chuckling to herself, she considered what a sorry looking group they made. 

The hulk whimpered somewhere behind her and Nat let her head settle back to rest against him. "It's alright, Big Guy, shhh... " she said as she closed her eyes. "It's all done, now."

It was the last thought she had before she lost consciousness.

***

Tony had been thrown clear of the village by the blast and woke in the middle of the road. The blast had been bright and so he just lay there, trying to blink the stars out of his eyes and get his vision to return. After a little while, he felt a small hand poke at him and looked down to see a young boy kneeling beside him.

"Are you alright?" the boy asked.

"Never better."

The boy helped him to sit up and when he did, the fire in Tony’s chest fell out onto the road in a tight little ball shape. They both stared at it as it rolled slowly away from them.

"Is it supposed to do that?" the boy asked him.

Tony raised an eyebrow as he looked at the kid. "Is a god's fire supposed to fall from my chest and roll away like a marble? Is that what you're asking me?"

The boy nodded, expectantly and Tony stared back. He didn't have an answer to that one. "I don't know; don't look at me like that. Be useful and go get me something to catch it in."

The boy ran off and Tony turned to watch the fire slowly roll away down the road. It was a fair question, actually - was the thing supposed to just fall out eventually? Could it be that simple?

No, nothing was every simple with the gods; something had changed. Tony had changed.

Tony thought back to his stand at the tunnel and the decision he’d made there – not to seek vengeance or to fight with ulterior purpose, but to just stand and protect those who needed it - and realized he'd done something right, for once. He'd proved he was capable of doing something right and if that wasn't the most incredible lesson he'd ever learned, than Tony couldn't think what else it could have been.

He could be a good guy. He wanted to be a good guy and he didn’t need the fire for that.

Then Tony looked down at the intaglio ring of Stata Mater and thought of Pepper. He’d almost killed himself learning this lesson, just as she’d said he would. She was always right. Always. Maybe he should tell her that more often. Maybe he should tell her a lot of things more often.

The boy helped him to his feet and handed Tony a lantern from one of the wall posts. They moved down the road, let the little fireball roll inside, and then watched it rattle around.

“What are you going to do with it?” the boy asked.

"Oh, I'll think of something."

***

Phil hung close to the warriors as they crossed the rainbow-colored bridge and marched into the city. Every eye they passed seemed to fixate on Phil and Mjölnir and he held it closer to himself as a result, embarrassed now at whatever terrible thing he’d inadvertently done. When he walked into the palace’s Great Hall, though, it flew from his grasp and straight to the outstretched hand of a bearded, one-eyed man seated upon a throne – King Odin, no doubt.

“Father,” Thor began to address him.

“Silence!” the king replied, stilling not only the warriors, but what seemed to Phil like all movement and noise in the cavernous space. After a nod to his right, guards emerged from side rooms and roughly escorted Loki to kneel at the king’s feet. “What do you have to say for yourself, Loki?”

“What is left to say, Father?” came the smug reply.

“Very true. I gave you the chance to prove yourself and instead, you brought dishonor upon yourself and Asgard! The jötnar will rise and we will be forced once again to clean up your mess. But this is the last time, Loki. I will tolerate your bedlam no more. Heimdall will take your head and we will be done with it.”

Frigga came out to stand beside Odin. She looked to Phil, but said nothing. Even still, Phil understood her meaning; this was the moment she had asked of him.

“I would ask your majesty to reconsider,” Phil said in a voice that echoed through the silent hall for an unnaturally long time.

“On what grounds?” Odin asked eventually.

“On the grounds that you are as much to blame for these events as Loki.”

The silence this time was deafening. No one – not the guards, not Odin, not even Loki – so much as moved a fraction of an inch as Phil’s words hung in the air. And yet, despite the affront to not just a god, but a god king, Phil felt oddly calm. He’d walked into the Hall knowing his life was as good as forfeit, so he was not fighting for that chance to live. He was fighting for his soul and risked a quick glance to Frigga, who still stood motionless beside Odin.

After another moment, Odin chuckled. “Explain yourself, Philip Coulson, son of Rodbertus, emissary of Midgard.”

Oh boy… Phil thought to himself. He didn’t quite know the rules of etiquette in dealing with god kings, but he was pretty sure being deemed the emissary of an entire world could have drastic consequences for everyone back home if he screwed this up…

With another look to Frigga, Phil took a careful step forward. “With the greatest respect, your majesty, you knew of Loki’s whereabouts and of his intents. If you had truly wished to avoid war with the jötnar, why did you not stop him before he attacked their king?”

“He is a son of Asgard, Philip. If he is to rule, he must learn to make decisions without counsel.”

“I understand, your majesty. But he is exactly that – a son of Asgard, your son. He answers to you, does he not?”

Odin smiled. “I have tried to teach him responsibility the way my father taught me, but Loki does not learn the lessons. I should have left him exposed as an infant.”

It was as good an insight into the king’s mind as Phil was likely to get and he played a gamble. “But you did not expose him,” Phil pressed. “You wished to see him live then and I believe if pressed, you still want that for him now. Despite everything, he’s your son and you love him. You do not want to see him die today no matter what he’s done.”

Odin leaned forward in his throne and stared at Phil with his one good eye. “If Loki is to live, he will need to be taught in a way that I cannot. Do you claim that responsibility, Philip?”

Sweet Eros… was that what his soul was going to cost? Could he really take that job on with just the gamble that Frigga would stay good to her word? Phil looked to her again and saw her nod in the slightest of ways. She meant to keep her end of the bargain if Phil kept his…

Phil drew a deep breath and looked up at the king. “I claim it, your majesty.”

“Good,” Odin answered. “Then I give you responsibility for both of my sons.”

“What?!” Phil, Thor, and Loki all said in unison.

Odin stood and advanced on Thor faster than Phil would have thought possible. He struck Thor with Mjölnir and sent him sliding across the Hall.

“Loki is not the only son who refuses to learn his lessons!” Odin shouted at him. “You wish to be king, Thor, but you have not proven yourself even remotely worthy.”

“Father,” Thor started.

“Do not ‘Father’ me, boy!” Odin shouted. “As king, you have the responsibility to protect Asgard and all the realms from threats both obvious and discreet. For months, Loki has plotted openly while you ignored the evidence and allowed him to continue. How can I leave the kingdom to you knowing you’ll turn so blind an eye?”

“Loyalty, Father. Have you not taught me to be loyal?”

“I do not need a pet, I need a son who can rule!” the king answered. “He may have been misguided, but at least Loki fought for Asgard. What did you fight for beside yourself and the easier path?”

“I needed proof before I accused my own brother.”

Odin waved a dismissive hand. “Excuses. That Mjölnir left you for a human is all the proof I need of your impotence. I cast you both out, only to return once you’ve proven your ability to rule as a responsible king.”

“A king?” Loki cautiously asked.

“Yes, Loki,” Odin answered. “One of you will return when you’ve proven your worth and the other… shall be left to his fate.”

Phil saw Loki smile and did not care for the turn of events… but then the three of them were surrounded by bright swirling lights and a moment later, Phil realized they were sitting in the middle of the field just outside the Briganten village.

Loki stood first and surveyed the land around him. He smiled broadly as if opportunity lay all around him.

“Well, this has been fun, but if you’ll excuse me…” he waved his hands dramatically as if expecting himself to be magically transported. When nothing happened, Thor got to his feet and laughed at his brother.

“You have no magic here, brother. No Scepter.”

“And you have no hammer,” Loki answered with a sneer. “Let us see which of us is more helpless.” Then Loki pulled a small bag from his sleeve and threw it at the ground, where it exploded and sent both Phil and Thor flying away.

Phil wasn’t exactly sure for how long he’d lost consciousness or if he ever actually had, but when he sat up in the field, Loki was gone.

Wonderful. Thirty seconds into his responsibility and he’d already lost the little bastard.

Turning to look for Thor, Phil found the god was walking away from the village and out into the open moor. Phil jogged to catch up with him. “We should head back to the village. Loki won’t be too hard to track; we’ll collect my team and go after him.”

“Do what you wish, Philip,” Thor responded.

“No, see, I said ‘we,’ as in ‘you should come with me.’”

“This is not my world. I have no business here.”

“Yeah and wouldn’t it be great if we could just sulk away our problems?”

Thor grabbed Phil by the shirtfront and lifted him into the air. “I may not have my hammer, but I can still do you harm.”

“Sure, you could,” Phil answered, ignoring just how high off the ground his feet were dangling. “But then you’ll have alienated the only friend you have on this world.”

“We are not friends, Philip.”

“We could be,” Phil answered. “And a friend is probably the one thing you need right now more than anything else.”

Thor watched Phil’s eyes for a long moment and then set him down. “I am no longer worthy of Mjolnir. Why would you even want a friend such as me?"

"You believe in loyalty and respect, but more than anything, you believe in protecting those who need it. Anyone who believes that is a friend of mine." Phil held out his hand to Thor. "You are more than the weapon you wield, Thor, same as any member of my team. Join us."

Thor considered him for a long moment, but then reached out and took his hand.

***

Phil was sure he’d left the village in a better state, but as he watched the children run about – alive and well – he knew his team had done their job.

Steve was actively hauling debris away from a collapsed dwelling and Phil was glad to see the villagers lining up to help him. The Captain was obviously carrying injuries as he was only carrying two boulders at a time, but seemed undeterred.

When Phil saw Sharon standing on the main road, he went to join her. She had a heavy bandage wrapped around her head, but was alert and directing villagers to make repairs. Phil understood instantly why Fury trusted her to handle problems on her own.

"Agent Coulson," Sharon said in greeting as he approached.

"Agent...?"

“Tredecim, but you can call me Carter."

Phil thought immediately of his household goddess and the prayer he’d made to her in Rome. He couldn’t help but smile – perhaps his life meant something after all. ‘Thank you for keeping them safe,’ he whispered in his mind.

"Who is your friend?" Sharon asked, pulling his attention back.

"This is Thor, he's... Loki's big brother," Phil added reluctantly.

Sharon tensed at the introduction, but Thor paid her no attention. He was surveying the damage to the village and then finally turned to face her.

"Loki has caused all of this?"

"This and more," Sharon answered.

"Then I will assist in the repairs. No one should be homeless because of his games," Thor pronounced before walking towards an older couple standing amidst the rubble of their former home.

"Another god offering help? Agent Coulson, we don't have time for this. We need to prioritize protections for when Loki returns."

"He's not going to return any time soon. I broke his scepter," Phil answered with a shrug when Sharon raised her eyebrows.

"No more giants?"

"Well... maybe someday, but I think they'll need to take Asgard first before they can make a portal, so we have some time."

The tension dropped instantly from Sharon's shoulders and she moved to lean against the road’s stone wall. "Then it's finally over."

"For these people, yes," Phil said as he joined her at the wall and turned to watch Thor and Steve shake hands. They watched Steve direct him towards priority repairs before pausing to catch his breath.

Sharon nodded towards the Steve. "I have to keep shouting at him to take a break. He's not as invincible as he'd have us believe."

"No one ever is," Phil answered. "But his heart is in the right place."

Sharon nodded. "I'll oversee repairs here, but then I’ll head back to Rome to report in. I think I'll invite Steve to come with me. I want him to meet Fury; I think he could make a great agent."

"I'm not sure joining up is his style."

Sharon shrugged. "It's a month's journey back home. If I can't convince him in that time, we'll go our separate ways."

Phil smiled; he'd place good money on her ability to convince the Captain to join, if anyone could.

"Will you be returning as well?" she added.

Phil thought of Loki and his obligation to Frigga. "Not just yet. I have some work here I still need to do."

Sharon nodded, accepting but not pressing for details. "Well, Stark seemed interested in everyone returning to his villa. It could make a good base of operations; use him the way he's used us."

Phil nodded at the suggestion. "I'll consider it." But pleasantries over, Phil asked what he'd been dreading. "Where is the rest of my team, Sharon?"

"Stark took his chariot back home. He said he'd return with doctors and skilled workers to help out here."

"That's not who I meant."

"I know," she answered quietly. "They're resting in the tavern; Widow took the worst of it, but… Bruce is watching over her. No one could keep him from her."

Between Sharon’s hesitation and her mention of Stark flying off to retrieve a doctor, Phil had to tighten his jaw so his emotions wouldn’t show. He knew Nat had survived a lot in her day, but knowing that never made it any easier to see her lying in recovery. "And Clint?" Phil asked.

"Rattled," was all Sharon said.

***

Clint was sitting on the floor outside of Nat’s room in the tavern. His back was against her door and he’d drawn his knees to his chest to rest his chin. He jumped to his feet when he saw Phil.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Clint said as Phil walked towards him and wrapped his arms around him.

“I told you I'd find a way,” Phil answered.

“I know,” Clint said quietly into his ear. He dug his chin into Phil’s shoulder as he pulled him just a little closer. "I figured you meant... later."

Phil leaned into the embrace at Clint's words. It was exactly what he'd meant and it broke his heart to have put Clint through that. "I'm sorry..." he started to say, but Clint shook his head and pulled back, not wanting Phil to explain.

"I shot Nat," he said instead. "What if she dies?"

"She won't," Phil reassured. Clint was certainly rattled, as Sharon had suggested, and with good reason. He'd almost lost the only two people he cared about and one by his own hand. He couldn't focus on anything except his worries.

"But what if she does?"

"She won't, Clint," Phil answered firmly. It just wasn't a possibility Phil wouldn't allow himself or Clint to even consider it. "The Underworld isn't ready for her."

Clint pushed away to lean back against the wall and ran his fingers through his hair, calming and steadying himself.

"You said you had to stay over there. Why?" Clint asked after a moment.

Phil tried to think of an easy way to explain. “Loki,” was what he came up with.

Clint nodded and seemed to accept that. Then, mindful of the noise they were making, he took Phil’s hand and led him away from Nat’s and towards their room.

“Loki…” Clint said like a cursed word once he’d shut their door. “Someday, it will be my genuine pleasure to kick that little bastard into the next realm.”

“You may get your chance at that,” Phil said to him. “I… kind of brought him home with me.”

Clint stared at him for a long moment. “You brought him home with you? Like a dog?"

"It wasn't my choice."

"Because I really would have preferred the dog.”

"Me, too," Phil answered.

"What in Tartarus _happened_ over there, Phil?"

Phil shrugged and sat heavily on the bed. "I kind of took responsibility for the future of Asgard and the nine realms. And, also, I may now be the emissary for our world. I wasn't really clear about that. I'm not sure if it's a lifetime appointment or only while I'm in Odin's presence."

Ever so slowly, a smile broadened across Clint's serious face until he erupted into a loud belly laugh. "Holy Mithras, Phil. You do not do things in half measure."

"No, no," Phil said nodding, letting a smile of his own appear. "I should probably work on that."

"Don't you ever," Clint answered, leaning in to Phil and kissing him.

Phil pulled him close and let Clint guide them both back onto the bed. Once again, he'd almost lost Clint and that thought was almost too much to bear. He held Clint's familiar weight against his body and thanked the gods they still had time together. As long as Phil lived, he would never take that for granted.

But Phil knew their time was not guaranteed. He’d been burdened like Hercules with an impossible series of tasks. If he couldn’t find Loki, protect him, and teach him to be a responsible leader, then Phil would still be damned and they'd spend eternity apart.

And the world would probably end. That was a distinct possibility.

"Phil, you're drifting away," Clint whispered quietly in his ear. "What are you thinking about right now?"

If Phil was going to survive into the Afterlife, he wasn’t going to be able to do it alone. He was going to need Clint and that meant he had to come clean about the deal he’d made and the trouble he’d caused for them both. And hope Clint would forgive him.

“I didn’t _win_ you back from Pluto, Clint… I made a deal with him.”

“What did you trade?” Clint asked hesitantly.

“My soul for your life.”

Clint tightened his jaw and Phil knew he was struggling to contain his anger. He pushed away to sit up and Phil rose to match him. “Well, that was pretty stupid,” Clint said evenly.

“I couldn’t leave you there,” Phil answered quietly, but firmly. “I thought I knew what I was giving up, but it turns out that I didn’t know anything at all. Pluto played me for even more than I realized.”

“Of course he did. It's what they do. It’s why you _never deal with gods_ , Phil. Holy Hades, why do I have to tell you that?”

“I know, I know… “ Phil answered as contritely as he could.

“What did he get?”

“Do you remember when you shot me?” Phil asked him and was glad to see an involuntary smile tug at Clint’s lips.

“When we met? Yes...” Clint answered cautiously.

"Well, Eros guided your shot…”

Clint laughed as he said it. “Don’t give me that nonsense. You're not getting out this that easily…”

“No, it’s apparently true. Eros marked me as a champion and that’s the soul Pluto wanted. He played me like a lyre.”

Clint kept laughing and Phil felt a blush begin to rise up his neck. “You, Eros’ champion?” Clint asked between shallow, giddy breaths. “Phil, I can barely get you to stop working most nights. And this little trip, by the way, does not count as a romantic getaway. Gods, Phil… you’ve never even said you love me – it’s always some code with you about being safe or cleaning my armor, or whatever. What could possibly have compelled Eros to pick you?”

“You,” Phil answered plainly.

“Phil…”

“Pluto took you from me and I took you right back. I found him, I beat the trials, I gave him my soul, and I never once hesitated or even considered I was getting a bum deal," Phil said in one great breath, like it was something he'd been holding inside for ages. He took back Clint's hand. "Clint, if I had one last breath left in me, I would give it to you. There is literally nothing I would not do or give up just to have a few more moments with you.”

“Phil…” Clint pressed. His look had softened, but Phil pressed on determined to get everything out in the open.

“Loki’s mother offered me a chance to settle my debt with Pluto and I took it. But it means that I have to find Loki and teach him to be a good king. If Odin couldn't do that, what chance do I have? But if I fail... I lose you."

"You won't lose me, Phil," Clint said softly, but firmly.

"But what if I do?"

"You won't," Clint said as he wrapped his hands around Phil’s face and pulled him in to a soft, reassuring kiss. “You're love's champion, remember?”

“So you’re not mad?”

“Oh, no, I’m pretty mad you didn’t tell me about Pluto and I can promise that you are going to spend a lot of time making that up to me,” Clint answered in a tone that convinced Phil he meant every word. “But Phil… I thought I lost you and I’m not going through that again. If I have to track Loki across worlds and then carry him home in my quiver, I will do that. For you and with you.”

Phil pulled him into another kiss and lingered against him, thanking Eros and every other god he could name for bringing them together.

"I love you, Clint. I know I don't say that the way I should, but..."

"No, you really don't."

"I'll make it up to you."

After a moment, he felt Clint’s lips broaden into a coy smile. "Yes you will."

Phil felt his smile lift to match Clint's. "What did you have in mind?"

"More of a question, really," Clint answered. "What exactly can champions do?"

“I'm not really sure...”

“Want to find out?”

Phil felt his worries melt away as he stared into those eyes. “For as long as we can."

***

The first thing Nat noticed when she woke was the necklace clasped around her neck; it was her necklace, the one she’d given Bruce. Reaching up to touch it, she caught Bruce’s eye and he leaned forward from his seat beside her.

“Natasha,” he said with a relieved smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I lost a fight with an erbörü,” she answered.

Bruce smiled and helped her to sit up a little more. It was clear to Nat that he didn’t want her to exert too much effort, which was touching, but not a sentiment she wanted to over-indulge.

“I’m fine, Bruce,” she said, weakly pushing away his hands.

“Yes, you keep saying.”

“I thought you couldn’t remember what happened when the other guy took over?”

“Why, did you say it then, too? Natasha, you’ve been mumbling ‘I’m fine,’ in your sleep for hours.”

“Oh.”

“Stop trying so hard,” Bruce said as he ignored her hands and fixed her blanket.

“Stop trying to stay conscious? No, Doc; I think that's a fight I'll have every time,” she answered with a smirk.

"No, I..." Bruce started, but didn't finish as if it wasn't worth the fight. Instead, he got up and brought her a mug of the warm tea he'd brewed. Nat thanked him and sipped her tea in silence. She watched him curiously, even after he seemed to get embarrassed by her stare and had shifted his eyes to look down at his feet.

"Why did you give me back the necklace, Bruce?" she asked, pulling back his attention.

"I thought you needed it," he answered with a slight shrug.

"It wouldn't have protected me in that fight."

"It might have," Bruce answered. "Sharon told me you stood between me and a volley of shot."

"You're welcome," Nat answered with a shrug of her own.

"I'm not grateful; that was stupid," Bruce answered. "You could have been killed."

Nat hadn't expected the reaction and couldn't decide if she was touched or angered by it. "But I wasn't, Doc. I'm still standing," she answered evenly before looking down at the bed. "Well, sort of."

He again leaned forward, making sure Nat looked him in the eye. "Three times since I've met you, you've nearly killed yourself trying to protect me. Now I don't think you set out to kill yourself - I don't think you've given up like I had - but I think you are so intent on proving you're not the monster you were that you've forgotten what you are, which is human." Bruce reached over and gently took her hand so gently, all she could feel was his warmth. "You can break, Natasha. You _did_ break."

"I'll heal, Bruce," she answered.

"This time," Bruce said, nodding. "But what about next time? Or the time after that?" Bruce reached over and gently closed Nat's fingers around her mother's pendant. "Don't let Shield, or me, or anyone make you someone you're not, Natasha."

Nat watched him for a long moment, but he didn't look away from her this time. "You might not like who that is," she said quietly.

"Maybe," Bruce answered steadily. "But I'm not afraid to meet her. Are you?"

"Why would I be afraid?"

"I don't know; do you become an enormous green rage monster?"

Nat smiled with surprise. "Did you just make a joke, Bruce?"

"I don't know, maybe? Was it good?"

"Yes," she answered and he smiled to match her.

"Well, maybe that's something we've learned about me, then - that I'm a funny guy. What do you think we'll learn about you, Natasha?"

Nat had never been one for poems or romances. Love was for children and not something she was ever meant to know. But there was something about the lightness of the moment that made her pull Bruce close and kiss him with closed eyes. It was oddly freeing.

Before she pulled away and let him catch his breath, she leaned close to his ear and whispered, "My real name is Natalia."

***

**Epilogue**

Odin was waiting for Frigga when she returned to the palace. "Have you concluded your business with Pluto?" he asked her.

"Yes and he sends his regards."

"This is a dangerous game you are playing, my Queen."

"But a necessary one," Frigga answered. She took his hand and together they walked to the room's balcony and looked out over the kingdom. "Loki would have killed Thor for the throne. I would rather see him exiled than wrapped in a shroud."

"As would I."

"You were correct husband; he has much to learn if he is to rule."

Odin nodded. "I was surprised to see your mark upon the human, though. Truly, he is your choice?"

Frigga turned and smiled up him. "Yes, husband. Thank you for trusting my judgment."

"I have _always_ trusted your judgment, wife," Odin answered softly while leaning in to kiss her brow.

"I have read the portents. Philip will guide both of our sons and they will return to us in their time, one as king."

"And the other?"

"That is up to Philip." Frigga placed a gentle kiss on Odin's cheek. “And to you.”

Odin watched her leave and then turned to look back out over the city. He watched the stars rise in quiet stillness and then raised Mjölnir to his lips.

"Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor," he whispered. Then Odin lifted the hammer up and watched it fly away among the stars. "Good luck, my son. May you find the man you are to be."

*****


End file.
